Not Ready To Make Nice
by Liv Wilder
Summary: Post-Ep for '47 Seconds'. "I need a word with you." Castle's voice cuts through the hubbub of the bullpen even though he has it purposefully toned low. Low and rough, scraping at his vocal cords with a touch of something dark and smoky that tugs at Kate's gut, exciting and scaring her in equal measure.
1. Chapter 1 - Mad As Hell

_A/N: This is a 'write your way out of a hole', post-ep for '47 Seconds' that's been sitting in a folder on my desktop for a little while. I have the next two chapters already written, so should be a fairly quickly completed little fic, exploring an alternative route out of their messy, miscommunication and failure to meet halfway, or anyway really, at that point in time. _

_The tone is vaguely inspired by the Dixie Chicks' song, 'Not Ready To Make Nice', i.e. angry, and the title and chapter headings are a direct lift of lyrics. No copyright infringement is intended._

_The story picks up right after Castle leaves the precinct at the end of the episode, after Kate said 'So I guess it's just us', when she asked the boys out for a drink and they begged off, leaving only her and Castle. Only this time, after he leaves, he comes back..._

* * *

_'Forgive, sounds good  
Forget, I'm not sure I could  
They say time heals everything  
But I'm still waiting' _

_**- Dixie Chicks**, 'Not Ready To Make Nice'_

* * *

_**Chapter 1: Mad As Hell**_

_[Episode Recap]_

_BECKETT*  
You know, now that the case is done…what did you want to talk about?_

[Beckett waits expectantly]

CASTLE  
Nothing. Nothing important anyway. I'm gonna head home. Night.

[Beckett is confused by his distance]

BECKETT  
Good night.

[Beckett ponders Castle's attitude change as he walks to the elevator. He steps in and glares at her as the doors close.]

* * *

"I need a word with you." Castle's voice cuts through the hubbub of the bullpen even though he has it purposefully toned low.

Low and rough, scraping at his vocal cords with a touch of something dark and smoky that tugs at Kate's gut, exciting and scaring her in equal measure.

Her face visibly brightens at the sight of her partner's surprise reappearance. "You came back," she blurts unconsciously, unable to hide her pleasure. "Sure. I have some paperwork to file, but after that I'm all—"

"_Now_, Kate."

_I'm all yours_.

That is what she means to say, but he cuts her off before she can get the words out. He wouldn't hear it in any case, the sentiment and the truth behind that bold or off-hand statement, whichever way you choose to look at it. He's not in the mood or the right frame of mind to pick up that hook and do anything with it tonight.

A couple of detectives and a uniform chatting in a pre-shift huddle at a nearby desk turn at the sound of Castle's voice and they stare at the partners, something invisible shifting in the air between them that captures the attention of these strangers.

Kate keeps her tone even when she replies. "Of course. What do you need?"

Castle's forceful use of her first name, the way it seems to burn on his tongue with disdain - as if disdain were some newly acquired taste sensation sitting somewhere unpleasant between sour and umami – _that_ is what gets her attention.

She's tired. It's been a long stressful few days with the bombing and the heightened profile of the case. It felt good to get that kid in the box and push him as hard as she could today. But now that they've closed the case and found the actual bomber, her energy reserves are low.

She'd been thinking about asking Castle out for a drink tonight to celebrate, maybe blow off some steam, had been thinking about it all day before she actually asked. But he disappeared on her for several hours and she has no idea where he went, and then his unexplained mood not minutes ago...

So she's more than glad that he's back, even if he does look a little on the tense side.

* * *

Castle enters the break room, waits by the door for her, solicitous as ever, and this is all that Kate sees: Rick Castle, her partner, her friend, and the most chivalrous man she knows. She completely misses the strain in his body: the stiffer than normal posture, the gnarled wrap of his fingers around the door, knuckles blanched white because his grip is so tight. She's in a different frame of mind from him, a wholly more hopeful frame of mind. So she misses every last clue to his mood and as a result, this is how she is when he strikes – totally caught off guard.

"You lied to me."

Kate pivots to look at him, the words failing to register even now.

She smiles, raising her eyebrows brightly. "I'm sorry?"

"You're_ sorry_. Is that it?"

She frowns, confusion crinkling her brow and marbling her eyes. "No. Wait. Castle, back up. What are you talking about?"

He gives her a minute for her brain to rewind the audio. And then he sees perfectly the second she rehears his accusation.

"Lied. Yeah. Got it now?" he asks, watching the cloud of miscomprehension clear from her irises to be replaced with cold, stark knowledge mixed together with gut-churning fear.

Kate swallows hard, her mouth parching suddenly. "I can explain." She says the words, and in her head they come out clearly. But in reality they are strangled and weak, choked upon, because she knows there is no explaining this. Not really.

"You know, I was on my way out of here tonight," Castle tells her, ignoring her offer to explain in favor of offering up a little explanation of his own. "But then I got inside that elevator out there," he adds, pointing out towards the exit, "and…and I just couldn't do it. I couldn't do it, Kate."

"Couldn't do what?"

"And do you wanna know why?"

"I—I'm sorry. Why what?" She frowns, unable to keep up all of a sudden.

They seem to be talking over one another and Castle's soliloquy is disturbing. He's talking as if he can't even hear her at all. She's been waiting for this to happen in some shape or form for a long time. Months, in fact. But she thought they were getting to a place where her lie, okay lies, would become an irrelevancy in the face of her forward momentum; of her returned feelings for him. But he's beaten her to the punch line, and now anything she says will sound hollow, a lie, bad or worse.

"Because I'm _done_," he tells her forcefully, getting right up in her face.

She can feel the warm puff of his breath on her lips causing her skin to prickle with pleasure despite the dire situation. "You're—?"

He shakes his head, his eyes cloudy and grey, holds his hands up in front of him as if to ward her off though she has yet to move a muscle. "Yeah. I'm done. I am _done_ pretending, running, hiding, tiptoeing around, and making excuses for my feelings. I'm done feeling like I'm not good enough or…or that I don't measure up."

"Castle, who _ever_ said that?" gasps Kate, her expression horrified.

"No one."

"So, why—"

"Doesn't matter. It's how you make me _feel_, Beckett."

* * *

Kate presses her fingertips to her forehead. Her nose touches her palm and her mouth is concealed behind the heel of her hand. Her fingers are ice cold and they burn her skin where they touch her clammy brow. She shakes her head and then removes her hand, raising her eyes to find the furious blaze of her partner's hurt, angry gaze.

"Rick…no," she whispers, still shaking her head. Panic flares in her chest as he backs away from her. "No!" she says again, more forcefully this time, moving towards him, her hand outstretched.

Castle appears on the point of leaving, and a demand, a plea, a cry of some sort forms tight as a ball in Kate's chest, threatening to explode out of her, because she has to stop him. She has to straighten him out once and for all. But he simply closes the door firmly until the latch pops into place with a resounding click and then he turns back to face her.

"Start talking," he demands, roughly pulling out a stool and indicating for her to sit.

Kate stares at his polite, yet forceful gesture. "Maybe here isn't the right place to—"

"Start. Talking." He repeats the demand a second time, his voice low and deadly, and oh God, what has she done to this kind-hearted, generous, playful man.

Kate, compliantly for her, takes the stool he has pulled out for her and sits. Castle calmly waits for her to be seated and then he takes the stool opposite. Never not a gentleman, no matter the circumstance.

"I—"

Kate shakes her head, looks down at her hands clasped on the table in front of her. "I'm not sure where to… Where do you want me to start?" she asks uncertainly, looking to him for guidance.

"Wherever you want. But we're doing this tonight. We're doing this tonight and then—" Castle break off and shrugs.

"And then?" asks Kate, tilting her head to one side in an attempt to get him to meet her eyes.

"Fork in the road time," he mutters quietly, tapping the tips of his fingers against the scratched surface of the high top table with restless agitation.

"You talk and then we take whichever route is left."

_TBC..._

* * *

_*Credit to Script Line for the script excerpt at the start._


	2. Chapter 2 - Not Ready To Back Down

_A/N: I'm amazed by the response to this fic, since post-47 Seconds stories tread a well-worn path by now. But I can see from your reviews that the pain and dissatisfaction with the ending to that episode still cut deep. So thank you for joining me on this journey._

* * *

**Chapter 2: Not Ready To Back Down**

_Previously..._

_Kate shakes her head, looks down at her hands clasped on the table in front of her. "I'm not sure where to… Where do you want me to start?" she asks uncertainly, looking to him for guidance._

_"Wherever you want. But we're doing this tonight. We're doing this tonight and then—" Castle break off and shrugs._

_"And then?" asks Kate, tilting her head to one side in an attempt to get him to meet her eyes._

_"Fork in the road time," he mutters quietly, tapping the tips of his fingers against the scratched surface of the high top table with restless agitation._

_"You talk and then we take whichever route is left."_

* * *

The silence that follows this proclamation is uncomfortable. _Extremely_ uncomfortable. For all the progress they've made recently and for all the time Kate has spent in therapy - hell, she spent a lot of time in silence in that room in the beginning - she's still not comfortable being silent with him, not when there's an issue this big hanging between them. An issue about as big as one of the freaking electronic billboards in Times Square.

"I'm waiting."

His prompt is quiet too, controlled, but no less stern and uncompromising than the demand that she talk issued just a minute or so before. It seems everything is weighing on what she says next, and usually she's good when the pressure is on, when the spotlight is turned on her. That is usually when she performs best, comes into her own, brings her A Game, shows the perp who's boss…

Yeah, the perp.

Only Castle isn't a perp and this isn't the box. This isn't even particularly private…or soundproofed for that matter, and she knows her nightshift colleagues can sniff out gossip at a thousand paces so…

"I will talk. I'll answer any questions you have, Castle…"

"Good."

"But not here."

Castle looks up sharply from the scratches he'd been studying on the table's worn surface. "I'm—_what_?" He shakes his head a little, as if surfacing from the crystal blue depths of a swimming pool and attempting to clear water out of his ears.

"I'll talk. Gladly. It's…it's time. You're right. But not here."

He glares at her across the table, his nerves frayed, muscles jumping under his clothes. Because he had to work himself up into quite a froth to get to this point. He had to work himself up to come back in here and demand anything of her, let alone this – a showdown, an explanation that will either be the making or the breaking of them.

He has crossed a line tonight and it will take all that he has not to simply cross back over to the other side; the safe, silent, tortured side, where he lets her off the hook, smoothes things over with a cup of coffee and a quip, simply turning the other cheek for the chance to continue living within her orbit, telling himself that is enough, and then hating every second of it.

* * *

Kate sees the moment he gives in to her request for a change of venue, watching him deflate like a balloon with a slow puncture.

"Fine," he mutters, scrubbing his hands down over his face before unfurling his long legs from the spars of the stool to stand. "Fine. But we're doing this," he adds, a parting shot of warning before they leave the relative privacy of the break room and reenter the slightly more muted fray of the bullpen at night.

Kate quickly collects her coat, her purse. She locks up her desk and shuts off her computer with one hand, while she scrawls a last minute note to the boys with the other.

Castle lurks like an angry teen over by the elevator doors, impatiently slapping his hand against the call button now and again. As a result, he's too far away to be able to read the content of the yellow sticky Kate peels off the small, square pad and affixes to the keyboard of Ryan's computer. Curiosity burns inside him like an impossible-to-reach itch. It's his own fault for walking away and leaving her to collect her things…for rushing her actually. He sighs, hears his mother's words inside his head like they're a vinyl record stuck on a loop, the needle fixed inside the same groove, refusing to jump or move on.

'_Richard, love is not a switch. You can't just turn it off.'_

He bites the inside of his cheek, flexes his fingers into fists and then opens them out again, drying his clammy palms on the back of his pants. "We'll see about that," he mutters to himself, disgusted at this inner monologue he's suddenly developed that's slowly turning him into a crazy person.

* * *

"Ready to go?"

Kate's voice is light, casual and unassuming as it wafts around him, alerting him to the fact that she has herself back under control again.

Castle's heart sinks like a stone. He was betting on the element of surprise when he came back tonight – going on the attack to get the jump on her, to throw her off her stride long enough that she'd drop her guard for once and he'd finally get at the truth. Now that he has lost that advantage, all he can do is trust her; trust her promise that she will talk. This realization creeps up his spine like a thief on a fire escape, leaving him feeling vulnerable and frankly doomed. He's not in a good place after today. He can taste defeat on his tongue having witnessing her cold betrayal firsthand - sudden, stark and shocking - through a tempered layer of mirrored glass.

He suddenly hates having to rely on his partner for his fate, to the point where he could gladly walk out of here right now, cut his loses and run without ever knowing the truth. Because she no longer feels like any partner he recognises.

So it takes everything he has left to make himself stick around; righteous anger and his innate curiosity for the story the only things keeping him here. At least that's what he tells himself.

Seems Kate Beckett isn't the only good liar around here.

* * *

"Right here…_waiting_" he grits out in response to her question, inwardly cringing at his own sarcasm laden remark; a remark Kate chooses to ignore or doesn't even register, because she simply brushes past him when the elevator doors slide open and heads on inside like normal.

In truth, she feels none of those things – neither calm nor casual - and this situation is anything but normal.

"So, where to?" he asks, as Kate reaches out to press the button labeled 'L' for lobby.

"Eh…" Blank. She has no idea.

Getting out of the break room - where they were taking up space and probably drawing too many interested looks – that was her only criteria when she first had designs on leaving the precinct. But as far as somewhere else to go…she has no clue.

"Mother is home with Alexis. Mixing up some revolting green and pink gunk, so..." he shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck as he stares at the elevator floor.

Kate frowns in puzzlement.

"Face masks and scalp treatments or something," he adds, by way of vague explanation when he chances a glance and sees Kate's confused expression. He manages to summon the faintest of painful smiles, though God knows how.

Kate nods and smiles back tentatively. He sounds almost like his old self for a second. "Right. _So_…loft is off limits," Kate concedes, since they will need privacy for this.

"Your place is probably not a good idea either," Castle states flatly, before she can even make that suggestion or think it through one way or the other.

"Not…_no_?" she asks, brow knitting, wondering exactly what he's getting at. Her apartment is quiet, certainly private, but it could be too—

Actually, she has no idea and wouldn't like to speculate and get that wrong either. "Okay, well…are you hungry? Thirsty? We could go to the Old Haunt."

"No. Somewhere quiet, neutral. Somewhere no one knows us," Castle insists, the bite of determination and simmering anger flattening his voice into a dead monotone.

He's cutting down their options – well, they still have the remainder of the entire city at their disposal - but he's calling the shots and yet not exactly offering up a solution.

* * *

The elevator doors slide open and Kate steps out first, her heels clicking on the marble tile, echoing past the Sergeant's desk and on out to the front door of the precinct with her partner in tow. So far, so normal.

She stops at the top of the worn stone steps and breathes in a lungful of cool night air, letting her eyelids drift closed for a second. The streets are quiet, traffic on the wane.

"How about we just walk for a bit, _hmm_? See where the mood takes us?" she suggests, as gently and as positively as she can. "We can talk on the way."

The way to where, exactly, she wants to stop and ask. But her thoughts are already straying to the vocabulary she'll shortly be needing to explain herself. Snippets of conversation that have passed between herself and Carter Burke, snatches of self-awareness that appeared like the sun through parting clouds now and again over that lost summer – there one minute and then gone the next when darkness descended as fast as it lifted on her worst days.

She shivers, though it isn't even cold outside, her mind consumed by a swirl of dark, painful memories.

Castle surprises her, jolting her out of her cave of introspection when he heads down the steps ahead of her, this all the answer she thinks she's going to get to her proposal that they simply walk and talk. But then he turns to wait for her when he reaches the sidewalk, his pause a kind of silent agreement. She sees his face in the glancing blow of the streetlight before he begins to move again, defeat and betrayal etched into the lines that run by his mouth, the deadness in his eyes. She can cope with anything but his disappointment - his disappointment in _her_ - and suddenly she's grateful that he's here at all, even if he isn't talking.

_TBC..._


	3. Chapter 3 - Too Late To Make It Right?

_A/N: Thank you for your reviews and encouragement. _

* * *

_**Chapter 3: Too late to make it right?**_

_Previously..._

_"How about we just walk for a bit, hmm? See where the mood takes us?" she suggests, as gently and as positively as she can. "We can talk on the way."_

_The way to where, exactly, she wants to stop and ask. But her thoughts are already straying to the vocabulary she'll shortly be needing to explain herself. Snippets of conversation that have passed between herself and Carter Burke, snatches of self-awareness that appeared like the sun through parting clouds now and again over that lost summer – there one minute and then gone the next when darkness descended as fast as it lifted on her worst days._

_She shivers, though it isn't even cold outside, her mind consumed by a swirl of dark, painful memories._

_Castle surprises her, jolting her out of her cave of introspection when he heads down the steps ahead of her, this all the answer she thinks she's going to get to her proposal that they simply walk and talk. But then he turns to wait for her when he reaches the sidewalk, his pause a kind of silent agreement. She sees his face in the glancing blow of the streetlight before he begins to move again, defeat and betrayal etched into the lines that run by his mouth, the deadness in his eyes. She can cope with anything but his disappointment - his disappointment in her - and suddenly she's grateful that he's here at all, even if he isn't talking._

* * *

So the city opens its arms to them as they strike out for nowhere in particular.

At least they are still together, thinks Kate, balking at all the other directions their partnership could have taken after today; the potential unspooling of her life that she thought was behind her.

She could kick herself for her rash stupidity, for losing her cool the way she did and letting her secret come tumbling out so thoughtlessly after months of being so careful. She should kick herself for her cowardly complacency too, for letting this run and run unchecked, so many issues left unaddressed, hoping just a little more time might magically make everything slot into place.

Yeah, she could kick herself alright.

She's been revisiting the running order of their day since they left the break room, while she put on her coat and packed up her things, reassessing the mood she believed existed between them before things blew up in her face. She is finding that she is mistrustful of her own memory, given the speed with which things have turned hostile between them. But snatches of conversation come back to her, looks shared, moments of quiet understanding that passed between them, and in these she finds the proof she is looking for - proof of where she believed they were headed before she betrayed her partner so badly that he can barely look her in the eye.

Still, he's giving her a hearing at least and for that she is grateful. Time to focus on forward, not back.

* * *

'_I've been thinking…about the victims and all the opportunities they'll never have…and I don't want that to happen…'_

Castle's words and the look on his face when he said them – like he was opening up for something big – come back to her with such clarity that it hits her like a physical pain. That missed opportunity, whatever it was, she wants it back. She wants to see that look on his face – a look of hope and longing and faith in her. Not the disgust, hurt and disdain she feels radiating off of him now as he walks beside her, his stride long and purposeful though they have nowhere particular to be, no destination other than each other and a future either together or apart.

"You…you were listening outside interrogation," she says finally, gnawing on her lip once the words are out there.

She glances up at him, almost missing a punishing crack in the sidewalk as a result. Castle catches her elbow just in time to save her turning her ankle. But then he instantly lets go, the old barriers and boundaries firmly back in place.

She can't believe she didn't figure it out immediately – that he was there, that he overheard her, why he left, the change in his mood when he came back again. All the red flags that he raised – his cryptic remarks in the final interview with Leann West, how vicious they seemed, how out of character, and how much, when she thinks back, they seemed to be aimed at her.

'…_that's what your friend Jesse Friedman would call sinning by silence. It's not smart. It's not brave. It's just cowardly.'_

Just what kind of detective is she? Where were the skills she prides herself on – the intuition, the empathy? How could she have missed all those clues?

"Bobby Lopez, right? I should have figured it out. The coffee cup, it was still warm…I had no idea where you'd gone."

"You were busy," he says, caustically.

_Never too busy for you._

If she could, she would tell him that. But now doesn't seem like the right time. He's in a less than receptive mood. Facts are what count tonight, not flattery.

"That…that display in there was a mistake. What you witnessed. I got angry. Lost control. I should have talked to you privately about—"

"Why? Because you got _caught_? Because you got caught in a lie, Beckett? Is that it?"

Kate blows our a breath, panic clawing at her insides. She feels as if she's losing him. As if she's maybe lost him already. "No. Because it would have been the right thing to do. Because I owe you an explanation. Because—"

"You don't owe me anything," he spits reflexively, but they both know he doesn't mean it. And they both know that it's not true either.

"Castle, that's not— I owe you my life…in so many ways."

Literal _and_ figurative.

He hisses or sighs or makes some other noise of dismissal she's never heard from him before. His curt indifference shakes her. This is a side to him she doesn't know, hasn't seen before. She wonders if Meredith or Gina—

"I owe you more than I can ever repay," she says quietly, more to herself than for him to hear, shaking off thoughts of his ex-wives and the pain they may or may not have caused him. She has no knowledge of that and no business thinking that way; she's not in their league for a whole number of reasons.

* * *

They walk on in silence, their route taking them downtown along Center Street. They cross over White Street, past the Tombs, a white Corrections Department transportation bus parked up outside, and move relentlessly on towards the white granite facades of the Civic Center district of Manhattan with its courthouse buildings and the leafy triangle of Foley Square.

The silence between them gnaws at Kate until she can't take it anymore. She can't ask him what he's thinking or how he's feeling, where her chances of recovering any of this lay. All she can do is talk more, explain more and hope she draws some kind of a response from him that lets her see inside his head.

This role reversal sucks.

The silvery façade of Frank Gehry's _New York_, all 76 stories, the second tallest residential building in the Western hemisphere, beckons in the distance, and Kate heads towards its ribbon of light for want of a better plan.

"Castle, I'm sorry. I should have talked to you…explained. But time went on and…" She falters. She's no good at this – apologizing, explaining herself, talking about her feelings.

"I imagine that gets tricky," he interjects, surprising her, since she's come to expect only grunts and brooding silence from him tonight. "I can see how silence might be preferable to…how would you put it?" he asks, looking directly at her before striding out across Worth Street, the open space of Thomas Paine Park opening up to their right. "Letting someone down gently?"

This last remark catches her off-guard. Why would she be letting him down gent—?

_Oh! Oh, no! No, no, no._

* * *

Kate grabs for Castle's arm, roughly spinning him towards her. "Okay, you have to _stop_ walking and listen to me," she demands, her cheeks flushing at the boldness of her actions.

Castle stares back at her in surprise, noisily drawing air in and out through his nostrils, seething.

"No. No, see that's where you're wrong. I don't need to _do_ anything," he tells her, angrily shaking off her hand and resuming his march through Foley Square beneath the towering facade of the Supreme Courthouse building.

The courthouse rises above a 100-foot wide flight of steps to an imposing colonnade of ten granite fluted Corinthian columns. Above this sits a triangular pediment, 140-feet long, with a number of classical figures picked out in high relief. Along the huge roofline stand three statues representing Law, Truth and Equity. More apt symbolism would be hard to find, Kate thinks, wisely keeping this nugget to herself.

Ambient light bounces off the putty-white granite throwing a pearly glow down onto the street below, bleaching their faces to a ghostly pallor, and Castle strides on.

Kate stays where she is for a moment, raising her voice just a little. It's so quiet and sound bounces, hard surfaces everywhere, so it doesn't take much for him to hear her. "I thought you said you wanted to know the truth."

He stops dead in his tracks and turns to look at her sharply. But the single word that comes out of his mouth is anything but sharp. He stares at her, blinking rapidly, his eyes softening the barest fraction the longer he looks. His mask slips for a second and something closer to a plea comes tumbling out, betraying his heartfelt need to understand. "Please," he whispers hoarsely, the voice of a man defeated by a love he can't control or outrun.

* * *

Kate feels a sudden need to protect him. She can see how much all of this is hurting him and how much his anger is costing him. He isn't an angry man by nature and that anger is sapping his energy, diminishing him in the same way anger seems to inflate the stature of crueler men.

"This way," she says quietly, catching up with him, gesturing towards City Hall Park, down past Chambers Street.

The Brooklyn Bridge is only a few hundred yards away, its pedestrian access the perfect 'get away from it all' path for them to take tonight. Where better to get a perspective on who they are and how they live and whether they can get past what she's done to see a way out the other side than from above and beyond this beautiful city of theirs, suspended over the East River on neutral ground.

"The bridge?" asks Castle, looking around him as if suddenly seeing the darkness, the few remaining tourists roaming this area at night, cyclists and pedestrians headed home to Brooklyn, the daytime flood staunched to a trickle instead of a flow.

Castle turns and looks behind him, walking backwards for a few paces. "How far have we come?"

"Not far enough," Kate offers, cryptically.

He faces front as they begin to ascend the gently sloping ramp of the bridge's pedestrian access, the headlights of on-coming, Manhattan-bound traffic strobing their bodies at well-spaced intervals.

"I'm not going all the way," he tells her, his face so serious and dark, his anger tangible in the tense brace of his shoulders and the set of his jaw.

Kate swivels her eyes to look at him, tempted to laugh at his unconsciously funny remark.

"All the way to Brooklyn, I mean," he quickly clarifies, as if he just heard himself and wants to leave no room for doubt.

"You're not going all the way…to Brooklyn?" she repeats, letting humor leak into her voice, since that's what he would normally do for her, no matter how inappropriate the moment. "Is that what the cool kids are calling it these days?"

"Don't, Beckett," he snaps, evidently not a fan of her little joke.

"Oh, come on," she cajoles. "That was funny."

"Nothing about today is funny. If you understood that we wouldn't _be_ here."

"So it's okay for you to make light, to use humor as a coping mechanism, but the rest of us have to…what, Castle? Keep ourselves buried in misery? You know, I never figured you for a hypocrite."

"And I never figured you for a liar."

* * *

His words are like a slap. They're still walking, their ascent ceaseless now, their breathing a little more labored given the incline and the anger and recrimination swirling between them.

"I'm sorry." And "I deserve that."

They both speak at once, eyes fixed front, too scared to look at one another lest the horror of their situation sticks and they find that there really is no way back for them anymore.

Kate takes a few more steps and when she looks up, a cyclist is headed their way over the wooden boards of the bridge. She steps to her right, over the white line that divides the pedestrian route in two – one half for foot passengers, one half for cyclists and rollerbladers. Her shoulder bumps her partner's and she apologizes reflexively, as if she has just crossed some invisible line, and since when did they become so stiff around one another?

She hates this. She wants to fix it, free them both, and since she can't seem to find the right words she'll just have to start somewhere and keep stumbling around until she can make him understand.

"I didn't expect to be here…not for much longer. I thought I was following a path."

Castle slows to stare at her, his interest piqued instantly by her words. "A path? What kind of path?"

Kate keeps them walking, keeps them moving forward. "The predestined kind."

Castle shakes his head, miscomprehension drawing his forehead into a frown. "Kate, I don't—"

"My mom."

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4 - Round And Round

_A/N: __Thank you for your continued support. Just a reminder before you read this chapter that this is a work in progress. They have much to discuss, so you're only hearing a partial segment of Kate's mea culpa at this point. It's too early to judge, is what I'm saying. ;)_

___Happy Birthday wishes to my friend, BlueOrchid96. This chapter is dedicated you, CB. xoxo_

* * *

**Chapter 4: Round And Round**

_Previously..._

_"I didn't expect to be here…not for much longer. I thought I was following a path."_

_Castle slows to stare at her, his interest piqued instantly by her words. "A path? What kind of path?"_

_Kate keeps them walking, keeps them moving forward. "The predestined kind."_

_Castle shakes his head, miscomprehension drawing his forehead into a frown. "Kate, I don't—"_

_"My mom."_

* * *

_My Mom._

Those two words shut him right up. This is the story that lurks at her core - the bedrock of her adult existence - and it rocks him every time she brings it up. Because as far as he knows, _he_ is the only one she ever discusses this painful piece of her personal history with, and whether that's because he pushes or because she trusts him, he doesn't know. But he knows which answer he prefers. He feels the weight of responsibility every time she shares another little fragment of herself with him, so he prepares to shut up and he listen.

"Go on," he encourages, unable to shake the flint from his voice, despite wishing he could find something softer to offer her, the pain of being lied to, of being made a fool of lodged in his gut like the blade of a knife buried all the way up to the hilt.

"When she was on a case, you know a pro bono, gut-churning, all-consuming, life is fiercely unfair kind of a case—"

"The kind you deal with about eighty percent of the time, you mean?" Castle cuts in; bold in his candor.

Kate darts a look at him, because she senses in that one dry remark that he does understand. "Yeah, that kind. It was as if she was on rails, Castle, running that puzzle down until she got off at the other end with the thing solved…or new ground broken, new case law made if she had to."

"Sounds like a tenacious lady."

"She was. But…"

Kate slows her pace as they near the middle of the bridge, the cat's cradle of steel cables stretching out to welcome them with beckoning fingers.

"But?"

"Looking back, I'm not sure how much of a good thing that was." This admission costs her, has only come to her after hours of professional therapy and years of quiet soul searching.

"Why?"

"Her passion for justice made her blind to the dangers."

Castle can't believe he's hearing this particular nugget of insight from Kate Beckett of all people. He has a strong urge to say something sarcastic about kettles and pots, but he manages to suppress it at the last minute lest she shut down and stop talking.

"She was a lawyer," argues Castle. "A _lawyer_, Kate. There shouldn't have been any dangers."

"Yeah, and I'm a cop and I'm _not_ oblivious. Still almost got me killed though. Being too…too _focused_."

"I…I still don't see—"

"You have a family…" Kate shrugs, "…you have to make sacrifices. You have to learn to compromise. That adage about having it all is…it's a myth sold to us by glossy magazines and movies. It's not possible and it's not real. Not when you're doing a job like mine," she explains, displaying all the things she's learned with the power of hindsight.

"You don't believe you can combine motherhood with a career?" he asks, surprised to hear this coming from her and still unsure what it has to do with him.

"No. I believe you can, but I think you have to bend a little…change. I think you have to let go of the obsessive need you once had, whatever that may be. Let some of your drive be channeled into your family's welfare. Not just your job. Especially when that job comes with danger attached."

"I…I guess I can see that. More so after Meredith and Alexis."

"Right," nods Kate, quietly agreeing, wondering how they have each ended up bringing Castle' ex-wife into this discussion.

Castle is evidently wondering the same thing. "So…I mean, forgive me for being blunt here, but what does any of this have to do with you lying to me?"

"I'm not avoiding anything, I promise. I was just getting to that part."

"Well, how about you get there faster," he nips in frustration, raking his fingers through his hair and blowing out a breath. "Look, I don't like this any more than you do. But we're here now and it's time to put an end to the lies, Kate. Once and for all."

Kate pauses, doesn't answer right away. She simply breathes for a second or two while she gathers her thoughts. The flag flying above the bridge tower snaps back and forth in the stiff breeze, urging her on.

* * *

"Right before Montgomery…well, you know, I felt as if I was so much like her. Maybe too much. I became so focused, so driven. I was obsessing over her case in a way I hadn't since I joined the Academy."

Kate pauses to look at him, the gesture making her sway a little so that their shoulders touch briefly. "You've seen me up close when I get the bit between my teeth enough to know—"

"That sometimes you need saving from yourself? Yeah, I've seen that," he admits, grimly.

"So it started to feel kind of inevitable that I would end up like her one day. Because of…of how alike we are."

Castle abruptly stops walking to look at her. "Wait. You're blaming your _mom_?"

"No," sighs Kate in frustration, shaking her head. "No. I'm…I'm trying to explain and obviously not doing a very good job of it."

"So...take your time. Make me understand."

She touches his arm briefly to get them moving again, unable to stay still until she gets through this, too full of nervous energy.

"I was always so proud of her, Castle. I still am. But we're the same, she and I, and that drive was getting me into trouble. People close to me…the thought that they could get hurt. I lost sight of that. Her case, the sniper, me getting shot…all tied together," she stumbles to explain.

"And if you carried on asking questions…"

"They wouldn't fail next time. That one thing I knew."

They both fall silent for a minute or so, quietly absorbing and digesting the things she's just said.

"Hey, and don't think I don't know that nothing I've said so far is really news to you. I know you came to see me, tried to get me to back off. I should have listened to you then…about a lot of things," she admits quietly, locking eyes with her partner to see if he understands the full extent of the admission she's just made.

Castle doesn't crow or claim credit like he would have done just the day before if she'd told him he was right. Kate misses that reaction from him, as strange as that sounds.

"Can we add stubborn to that list?" he asks, betraying the first hint of humor she's seen all night.

"Sure," nods Kate, with a slight lift of a smile. "We Beckett women are nothing if not stubborn. Just ask my dad."

* * *

They walk on in silence, the air around them briefly disrupted by the sudden passing of a fast-flowing cyclist.

"So, this is all very…illuminating. But you still haven't explained why you lied to me," Castle eventually points out.

Kate squirms within her own skin, the effort of having to excavate and revisit months of suppressed feelings making her extremely uncomfortable. But he needs to hear this. They both do. But her progress so far has been so painfully slow that she's frustrating herself right now.

"Ugh, Castle, why can't I do this?" she rages, finally letting him see her frustration. "We've known each other for years, been in more tight spots than most people face in a lifetime. Why can't I just say what needs to be said?" she asks, mostly rhetorically, her hands planted either side of her face, her cheeks flaming beneath at her own inadequacies.

"Maybe because you don't like to admit when you've made a mistake. But then who does? Just…just say it and then it can be over," he suggests, tersely.

Kate bites her lip and then she finally takes the plunge. "I do remember everything. Most of all I remember you tackling me to the ground. But, Castle, I didn't need to _hear_ you say anything that day to know how you felt. I already knew."

He looks at her with naked curiosity. "How? When?"

"_When?_ The night you came to my apartment…when we fought. I knew then for sure. But I suspected months before that, if I'm honest. And how? You were the only one who cared enough, were brave or…or stupid enough to try to get me to stop. _That_ and all the little things."

"So why didn't you set me straight?"

Kate turns to look at him, frowning. "Set you—"

"You could have just told me you didn't feel the same, spared us both embarrassment later on."

Kate continues to frown, deeply puzzled. "Embarrassment? What embarrassment? Is that what you meant about letting you down gently?"

Castle's eyes widen at her seeming miscomprehension. "This is all a big joke to you. My mother said—"

"Wait!" Kate stops walking, preventing Castle from moving any further forward with a firm hand to his arm. "You talked to _Martha_ about this?"

He shrugs, as if it's no big deal, expected even. "Well…yeah."

"_After_ you heard me talking to Bobby Lopez in interrogation? You talked to your mother?"

"Yes, she was—"

Kate tugs her jacket more tightly around her. "God, Castle," she mutters in frustration. "You couldn't have just stuck around and asked me yourself? You…you _ran_ to your mother for advice and then jumped to conclusions instead of talking to me?"

"I didn't jump to conclusions. She figured out a long time ago…how I felt about you. She urged me to come clean, to just tell you. So, I was bringing her up to speed on recent developments," he adds bitterly, though he can hear for himself what a pathetic mommy's boy this makes him sound.

"See, there you go again. Jumping to conclusions."

"I know what I heard," he growls back.

"No! You only _think_ you know, Castle," accuses Kate, angrily, feeling cornered.

"What makes you so sure that I'm wrong?"

"Because _I_ know what _actually_ happened. You should be talking to _me_, not gossiping with your mother."

"Martha didn't—"

"So you managed to jump to this conclusion all by yourself? Great. I should have known."

"Hey, I'm listening now. But I'm not hearing much explaining going on."

* * *

They've reached the milestone of the bridge's first stone tower, with its Gothic, arched passageways soaring underneath. Kate turns forty-five degrees and makes for the fence, gripping the railing as she stares back at the glittering skyline of lower Manhattan.

Fear and anger simmer inside her. Fear that she's lost him already no matter what she says at this juncture. Anger that he could misread her so badly; even if she is a closed book most of the time. He's supposed to be her partner…in everything. He was supposed to know.

"I left town to get over you. _Okay?_" She seethes her way through the words, her voice rising to overcome the whip of the breeze at this height above the East River. "Going to my dad's cabin wasn't about hiding out or recuperating," she confesses, her eyes dancing nervously over the jagged outlines of the buildings in the distance, her fingers tightly wrapped around the rusted railing for anchorage.

She risks a quick darting glance in Castle's direction to check he's still there, beside her, listening to her explain. "I went away to lick my wounds. To try to forget…_everything."_

Castle's expression is inscrutable – serious and grim – his voice leaden, flattened under the weight of grief and betrayal. "And by everything you mean—"

"The precinct, my old life…_you_. Mostly you."

_TBC..._


	5. Chapter 5 - Forget, I'm Not Sure I Could

_A/N: Thank you to those of you sticking with me on this slow, angsty journey. Your messages really make me smile, and boy could I use a smile. ;)_

_Hope everyone is having a restful weekend._

* * *

**Chapter 5: Forget, I'm not sure I could**

_Previously..._

_"I left town to get over you. Okay?" She seethes her way through the words, her voice rising to overcome the whip of the breeze at this height above the East River. "Going to my dad's cabin wasn't about hiding out or recuperating," she confesses, her eyes dancing nervously over the jagged outlines of the buildings in the distance, her fingers tightly wrapped around the rusted railing for anchorage._

_She risks a quick darting glance in Castle's direction to check he's still there, beside her, listening to her explain. "I went away to lick my wounds. To try to forget…everything."_

_Castle's expression is inscrutable – serious and grim – his voice leaden, flattened under the weight of grief and betrayal. "And by everything you mean—"_

_"The precinct, my old life…you. Mostly you."_

* * *

Kate bites her lip and drags her eyes upwards to look at him, to see if he gets it yet - her sacrifice.

"I see," he murmurs, slowly turning away from her until his back is to the city and he can rest against the railing as he digests this out-of-left-field bombshell.

Kate stares at him, willing him to understand what she did and why. "Yes, but _do you_?" she asks, ducking her head to find his eyes when he doesn't react any further than with those spare words.

Castle steals a glimpse at her, his jaw so stiff that it looks painful. She can hear him breathing over the noise of road traffic, over the thundering of her own heart.

Eventually, she reaches out and lays her hand on his forearm, her slender fingers gripping the fine fabric of his jacket, the heat of his body leeching through to warm her palm. "Castle, I was in love with you. _Hopelessly_ in love. But they were _coming_ for me. This was my mom and dad all over again. Alexis—"

"You took something from me!" he yells at her, the wind quickly whipping his voice away as if it is a distant rumble of thunder.

Kate startles, taking an involuntary step back at the sudden burst of volume, the way the sound booms out of his chest and into hers. "I—" She falters for a second in the face of his startling response to the words she had long thought were the key to it all; the key to unlocking the mystery that is them.

He cups his head in his hands as if in physical pain. "All that time you let me think…" he rails, his voice cracking, turning in a tight circle as her confession hits him over and over again.

"I was trying to keep you _alive_," she yells back, the pain of that decision still so fresh and so raw for her, even all these months later; even out the other side and back by his side where she belongs, where they both belong.

* * *

Castle turns to stare at her with a look of utter betrayal, his expression telling her that he doesn't understand her decision or her motivation at all.

"When I said the thing I remembered most about that day at the cemetery was you tackling me to the ground, it's because the split second between that bullet hitting my chest and your body covering mine was so terrifyingly slim. You tried to get in front of that bullet, Castle, and you almost made it, _dammit_."

Anger swirls in the cooling air between them. Acid burns Kate's throat, just as exhaust fumes fill her nostrils, the acrid combination making her feel nauseous, as she is once again swamped by vivid memories of that terrible day. Cold fear at what might have been creeps up her spine, chilling her from the inside out.

"Yeah, well, I failed," he says, dismissively, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. "Too late the hero," he grinds out, once again turning away from her.

"Castle, look at me."

Nothing but the stubborn line of his back and the firm set of his broad shoulders greets her.

"Rick, please?" she whispers hoarsely, her throat dry, though her mouth is watering to the point where she could gag.

Still nothing. He firmly refuses to turn around and face her.

"Fine, have it your way. But you said you wanted me to talk, so you're just gonna have to stand there and listen," she tells him, breathing through her nose to get her roiling stomach under control.

"I came within a _second_ of losing you that day. Cats may have nine lives, Castle, but we don't, and our luck has been running out since the day we met. I couldn't stick around, knowing how I felt about you, and watch you sacrifice yourself for me the next time I got too close to the truth."

"_Really?_ _Really?_" he rages, finally spinning round to confront her. "Well, you know who _actually_ had to watch their partner, the woman they loved, slip away in the back of an ambulance covered in blood? Yeah, _me!_ That's who."

Kate startles again at the vehemence in his voice and the fire in his eyes.

"I had to watch you _die_, Kate, with your blood on my hands, and then I waited and waited for a call that never came. I got no closure. No chance to see you get stronger, to get well again. Just night after sleepless night of you dying in my dreams, followed by long empty days without so much as a text."

* * *

There are tears in Kate's eyes now, and Castle is a blurry outline in front of her – as indistinct and vague as she tried to make him become during those long, lonely weeks in exile up at her dad's cabin.

She takes a breath to try and say something, anything. "I had to," she whispers desperately, her words instantly drowned out when Castle dives back in again.

"So you were traumatized. We all were. We could have worked through it together. But, no, you _stole_ that time from me. You made the decision for me, Kate. _Without me_. You left me thinking you'd heard me and that you didn't give a damn. Then you lied to my face about it. I had some hope when you promised to call. But then…_nothing_. You left me believing you were happy with Josh, and all I wished for each day was that you were getting stronger, healthier and that you _were_ happy…somewhere…whether you were with him or not."

Kate reaches for the railings again, the power of Castle's words, of the hideous picture he's painting, socking her in the gut and making her sway. She thought she'd made the ultimate sacrifice for him, and only now does she understand that Castle paid as big a price for her decision as she did.

"I've made such a mess of things," she admits, looking down at the wooden boards beneath her feet, shuddering when she hears the massive understatement in her own words.

"Ya think?" he snaps back, with more venom and sarcasm than she's ever heard from him before.

"I'm sorry won't get me anywhere…not…not after that, I know. But if you'll just let me explain, Castle. Maybe…maybe I can make you see things from my perspective."

"From _your—_" Castle whirls round to stare at her, wide eyed with indignation. "Are you even _listening_ to yourself? Yet again it's all about you," he declares, turning his back on her, as if he can no longer bear to look, just as soon as these words are out of his mouth.

* * *

Kate swallows thickly around the pain of threatening tears, which are constricting the muscles in her throat, and then she tries to take a deep breath. "You were right. When you came to my apartment and accused me of hiding in nowhere relationships with men I didn't love…you were right. I was seeing Josh but…but I was already in love with you."

She pauses to try to assess if it's even worth continuing at this point, traffic noise the unromantic soundtrack to this soul baring exercise.

"Castle, can you even hear me?"

He makes no movement one way or the other, so she searches for words, for some explanation that might mean something to him.

"After I came round in the hospital, you were the first person I thought of, the first person I wanted to see. But my dad sat down with me to…to explain the surgery, the complications, along with the doctor. Josh was there too, I think…" she tails off, her mind briefly wandering back to that day: hooked up to machines, the constant beeping, the weight in her chest, the exhaustion, the creeping depression and the omnipresent threat of pain.

"Castle, I wanted to see you so badly, to talk to you about everything I was going through. By that point…that's how things were for us. Remember? You were my _best friend_. I told you everything."

"No…no, not quite everything," he cuts in, throwing her a wounded look.

"Okay, okay, so I may have left one major thing out," she concedes, once more to her partner's turned back. "But do you have any idea how terrifying a prospect it was to risk everything we had on the off-chance that we would make it? That we could be more?"

"The _off-chance_?" asks Castle, glancing at her over his shoulder. "You knew that I was in love with you and you…well, you _say_ that you loved me too, and yet you only thought we had a _slim chance_ of making things work between us? Did you feel _anything_, Beckett? Anything at all?"

"I was scared, _okay_. I wanted to protect what we already had. I couldn't lose that, Castle, and then I didn't want to lose you."

"What does that mean?" he asks, tersely.

"I asked my dad to tell me everything that happened, to fill in the missing pieces after—" She shakes her head and shrugs. "He refused at first, thought I'd been through enough trauma. But then I started having these flashbacks when I slept. He sat next to my bed and watched me almost pull the drain out of my chest during one particularly bad episode. I think the doctors advised him to tell me the truth after that. Thought it might help me process it somehow. Deal with it better in daylight," she shrugs again.

* * *

Kate can tell from the slight movement in Castle's fingers where they grip the rail that he is at least listening to her, that her words might be getting through, even if they're nowhere good enough to change his mind about her.

"What you did for me that day—"

"You mean _tried_ to do?"

"It meant _everything_, Rick."

"That's what partner's do, Beckett," Castle replies, brusquely, trying to brush off his act of heroism or score another point, she isn't sure which.

Kate carries on as if she hasn't even heard him, because she knows he's lashing out because he's hurting. "But I knew then that if I wanted you to stay alive, I would have to let you go. I just needed to see you one last time."

"And how did that work out for you? Because I know how it worked out for me," he says, bitterly.

"I had to, Castle. Seeing you again only made that clearer to me."

She wanted to save him – spare him the loss she watched her father go through, save him from getting caught in the crossfire even, to spare his daughter the loss she suffered if the worst ever happened and being close to her got him killed.

"You looked— God, you looked _amazing_. I wanted to tell you so badly that I heard you and that I felt the same," she confesses, silent tears crawling down her cheeks. "But I knew then that I couldn't."

She sacrificed her own happiness to save him; sacrificed a happy future and a love she felt bone deep to keep her partner and his family safe.

"Why not?" he asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Alexis…mainly. You needed saving from yourself, Castle. You tried to take a bullet that was meant for me, while your daughter was standing just feet away from us, watching. What kind of message do you think that sent your daughter? _Hmm_? That her father cared more for his partner than he did for her future happiness…for his own life?"

"Maybe it taught her something about selfless acts," he throws back at Kate, the personal jibe in his accusation not falling wide of its intended mark.

"_Bullshit!_" snaps Kate. "That is bullshit and you know it. I _am _that teenager who lost her mother, Castle, and you know me well enough to know better than that. There is no heroism in that kind of personal sacrifice. Not where Alexis is concerned. Only a lifetime of damage, pain and regret. All you taught her that day is that in that moment you loved me more. You loved me to a fault and you taught her to resent me, if she didn't already for my own cowardly behavior towards you."

"Cowardly?"

"I should have told you how I felt back then or cut you loose. Staying with Josh too long…hell, starting anything with anyone was a mistake. I was able to control things, to keep one foot out the door in past relationships. But I knew there was no way you would ever let me get away with that kind of behavior if we started something. It would be all or nothing with you, and that thought terrified me. So I tried to deny my feelings for you in the hope that they would go away."

"How'd that work out?" he asks, witheringly.

"It didn't. You _know_ it didn't. Life, fate, the universe, whatever…it kept throwing us together in these insane life or death situations. You know, I meant what I said earlier today. The bombing made me think about all the things in my life that I've been putting off—"

"Kate, don't," he says, holding his hands up to ward her off when she takes a step closer to him. "We are _far_ from done here."

* * *

Kate shivers when a particularly strong gust of wind whips around the stone tower beside them, tossing her hair across her face and tugging her jacket open.

"You're cold," observes Castle, the first concern he's really shown for her since they left the precinct.

Kate looks around her then, as if realizing where they are all of a sudden, though she is the one who led them here.

"Would you mind if we went somewhere?"

"Somewhere?" he frowns.

"Yeah, a coffee shop, a bar…anywhere. You're right about not being done, but standing up on the Brooklyn Bridge for the rest of the night…" she shrugs. "Unless you have a death wish, I suggest we go somewhere warmer."

"There's an all night coffee shop down on Chambers Street. The Blue Note. We could go there."

"Sounds perfect."

"Actually, it's a bit of a wreck."

"Then it sounds even more perfect," she says, trying to offer him a smile, though her cheeks won't work, as they turn together towards Manhattan's sparkling skyline to attempt to continue their journey back to one another.

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6 - Forgive Sounds Good

_A/N: Just a reminder, guys, that this story is labelled 'angst' for a reason. Don't eat salted popcorn if you actually feel like sweet, that's all I'm saying. ;)_

_Thank you for your reviews and PM's. Slow and steady wins the race. So with that in mind, on we go..._

* * *

**Chapter 6: Forgive Sounds Good**

_Previously…_

_"I should have told you how I felt back then or cut you loose. Staying with Josh too long…hell, starting anything with anyone was a mistake. I was able to control things, to keep one foot out the door in past relationships. But I knew there was no way you would ever let me get away with that kind of behavior if we started something. It would be all or nothing with you, and that thought terrified me. So I tried to deny my feelings for you in the hope that they would go away."_

_"How'd that work out?" he asks, witheringly._

_"It didn't. You know it didn't. Life, fate, the universe, whatever…it kept throwing us together in these insane life or death situations. You know, I meant what I said earlier today. The bombing made me think about all the things in my life that I've been putting off—"_

_"Kate, don't," he says, holding his hands up to ward her off when she takes a step closer to him. "We are far from done here."_

_Kate shivers when a particularly strong gust of wind whips around the stone tower beside them, tossing her hair across her face and tugging her jacket open._

_"You're cold," observes Castle, the first concern he's really shown for her since they left the precinct._

_Kate looks around her then, as if realizing where they are all of a sudden, though she is the one who led them here._

_"Would you mind if we went somewhere?"_

_"Somewhere?" he frowns._

_"Yeah, a coffee shop, a bar…anywhere. You're right about not being done, but standing up on the Brooklyn Bridge for the rest of the night…" she shrugs. "Unless you have a death wish, I suggest we go somewhere warmer."_

_"There's an all night coffee shop down on Chambers Street. The Blue Note. We could go there."_

_"Sounds perfect."_

_"Actually, it's a bit of a wreck."_

_"Then it sounds even more perfect," she says, trying to offer him a smile, though her cheeks won't work, as they turn together towards Manhattan's sparkling skyline to attempt to continue their journey back to one another._

* * *

Getting down off the bridge seems to take longer somehow than the time it took to get up there, though they walk the exact same route back, retracing their steps over the worn wooden boards, now a little bruised and perhaps a little altered.

Maybe it's the contemplative silence they both fall into the minute they leave the waypoint of the stone tower behind them and turn back towards the city, following the downward tug of thick steel suspension cables to their end point and the twinkling city lights beyond. Not talking, or yelling, is less of a distraction, and their thoughts are given free reign to swirl and mingle as a result. They both quickly become lost inside their own heads.

Castle feels a sorrow that he's having trouble placing. He has just heard words from Kate that he long dreamed of hearing – that she loved him, was hopelessly in love, she in fact said - and yet her declaration has left him cold. He's not sure if it's her use of the past tense, or the fact that she has admitted deciding she would be better off trying to deny those feelings, both to herself and to him, that has sucked the pleasure out of finally hearing her say it. Whatever it is, he feels empty, joyless and numb inside where he expected to be fizzing with energy and brimming over with effervescent joy.

Kate, for her part, is struggling to deal with a maelstrom of competing emotions. Now that she has confessed her sins, she wants to fix the mess she has made so that they can be out the other side of this painful, turbulent trauma as quickly as possible. She knows what she wants and has spent a long time working towards achieving it. Now that her mind is set on moving things forward between them, now that her private shame is out in the open, she just wants to make it happen. For her there is no going back and failing is not an option either.

Castle, though, is in a wholly different, much darker frame of mind. He is wounded and confused, his brain struggling to catch up with the revised version of his own recent history that he's just heard. All the things he thought were real, all the facts he thought he knew, all the feelings – good and bad - that he felt were justified, suddenly are found to not be real or true at all. He feels as if he is walking on quicksand, as if the ground could give way beneath his feet at any second and he could be sucked under. Nothing in his life, at least where Kate is concerned, feels as if it has any solidity, any permanence anymore. His brain jumps back and forth over conversations that he now feels he may or may not have misinterpreted. Looks, feelings, touches, glances, all the time shared before, after, and in between; they all fall under the same cloud of scrutiny and suspicion.

Absorbing the implications of these changes is going to take a little time. And Kate will have to learn not to rush him if they are to profit from this first attempt at openness and honesty, this highly pressurized attempt to talk things through, so that they do not founder or squander the potential now waiting for them.

* * *

A couple comes walking towards them as they near the bottom of the pedestrian ramp at Park Row. The man is tall, about Castle's height, only less well built, and the woman is slightly shorter than Kate and blond. But their appearance is not so much the striking thing about them as their behavior. They are so clearly in love with one another – walking in sync, their arms entwined, shoulders and hips barely parting an inch with every step they take. The woman laughs when the man says something and then she looks up at him, her cheeks flushing and her eyes dancing, and Castle feels himself react to this sight as if to some phantom pain. This is what he wanted for himself and Kate, and until today he thought they were but hours or days away from that kind of closeness.

Kate catches him watching the younger couple, sees the slack misery in his features, the deadness in his eyes, and she impulsively reaches out to squeeze his dangling forearm.

"I'm so sorry, Castle," she says, just loud enough for him to hear.

He barely nods to acknowledge her apology and they continue on in silence.

Kate drops her hand from his arm and turns her head to watch the couple as they pass. She finds herself smiling at the man's low, rumbling laugh, as drawn in as his wife or girlfriend seems to be by his infectious humor. Castle is the man who does this for her: who brightens her darkest days and makes her smile no matter what. If only she had seen the true value in that, risked her heart to trust him more, to trust herself, before now. No man she has ever spent time with in the past could make her laugh the way Rick Castle does, and everything else that she loves about him set aside, and there is a lot about this man that she loves, making her laugh is one special skill. A gift, in fact.

She shakes her head at all the ways she's screwed this up – thinking, in her own imperfect world, that she was sparing him pain and keeping him safe when she left the city and cut him off, when all she actually did was make him feel abused, taken for granted, and rejected, not to mention putting herself through a heap of unnecessary misery in the process.

God she's a mess.

* * *

The Blue Note coffee shop, on the other hand, is thankfully less of a wreck than Castle seemed to suggest.

"You undersold this place. It has its charms," she tells him, as he steps forward to open the battered glass door for her.

Having cut through leafy City Hall Park behind the Italianate Tweed Courthouse building - the second oldest building in New York and now home to the Department of Education - they headed out onto Broadway, before turning sharp left onto Chambers Street.

The Blue Note is situated halfway down the block: an independent coffee shop with a blue and red blinking neon sign in the window. The sign is in the shape of a coffee cup with steam rising endlessly from within its non-existent, two-dimensional depths. The colors remind Kate of the cherry bar of a squad car, cops and coffee never too far apart on the spectrum of symbolism. The sign reminds Castle that some things simply go on and on in this world, relentless and unfeeling, no matter what is happening to you personally. There is always a bigger picture, even if that picture does have a few of its neon tubes broken and doesn't look so sharp or modern anymore.

As Castle wrestles the door open, a bell tinkles above them heralding their arrival. Several heads turn to look in their direction. Inside the coffee shop, sitting on red, pleather-covered high top stools, are a couple of uniform cops, their hats resting on the countertop, their thick fingers wrapped around scratched mugs of coffee. Another loud group of four NYPD beat cops occupies a booth halfway down the long, narrow room, their joshing voices rising and falling to drown out the light background music, as jokes and insults are relentlessly traded between them.

Kate stalls in surprise just inside the entryway and the men at the bar look up, immediately raking their eyes up and down her body as if they cannot believe their luck.

Castle careens into Kate's back with the suddenness of her abrupt stop and he is forced to reach out to prevent himself from physically lurching into her. Naturally, his hands land on her hips and her warm skin scorches his palms, immediately sending a painful stab of longing through his chest. Fast as he can, he makes to remove his hands from her body. But Kate surprises him, dropping one of her own hands down to cover the hand that's currently resting on her left hip. She turns into him, their stomachs and chests almost touching.

* * *

"You didn't tell me this was a cop hangout," she hisses, thumbing over her shoulder at the thin blue line behind them.

"I didn't know," he shrugs, the apology already written in his features.

"Castle—" she hisses, her tone accusatory, quickly following it up with a frustrated sigh. She runs her hand through her hair and glances over her shoulder at the now-silent ranks of her fellow officers who are, to a man, now looking their way.

"We can go somewhere else," offers Castle, his hand still trapped against her hip under the light pressure of her fingers, which have somehow managed to worm their way in between some of his. He breathes slow and shallow to compensate for his racing heart.

"I— You know what, don't worry about it. I should have figured it out for myself. All night coffee shop this close to One PP…bound to attract this kind of crowd. Let's just…sit. They'll forget about us soon enough."

But when they turn around and make to find a table of their own, Castle has to fight the urge to drag his partner out of there or ask for her gold shield so he can flash it at these monkeys. All of them are staring at her, taking her apart, piece-by-piece, with their greedy, beady little eyes.

Kate can feel the tension coming off Castle in waves. She doesn't want a scene and she certainly does not want these uniforms knowing her business. So despite having let go of Castle's hand when they made a move to find a table, she reaches back for it now, gripping onto his fingers and then sliding her palm all the way back until it kisses his and she can tow him along behind her, urging him closer so that they look like a couple, even if they technically aren't one yet, hoping that the men will leave them alone once they know that she's taken.

Castle is reluctant to play this charade at first, or he doesn't understand what she's trying to do. But eventually, the pressure of her hand in his is too great to ignore and too hard to shrug off. Combined with the low whistle one of the men emits as they reach the row of booths, he makes a choice: lets her tug him closer until her back is within a couple of inches of his front, and then he drops his free hand to her left hip and they walk the length of the coffee shop, joined together as if they belong this way, as if they share this kind of close physical connection all the time. It's too easy and it's too hard all at once; a trap he could fall right into without any difficulty.

* * *

As soon as they reach an empty booth at the back of the room, Castle lets go of Kate's hand. The curve of her sharp hipbone moving beneath his fingers is a memory he won't be able to forget for a long time.

They sit down opposite one another, sliding along the bouncy pleather bench until they hit the wall and are obscured from prying eyes.

"You okay?" asks Kate, watching him carefully as she raises and lowers her lashes from the tabletop to his face and back.

Standing up on the bridge in near darkness confessing secrets to him was one thing, but sitting in a bright coffee shop facing one another to continue baring her soul is a whole other can of worms, and it's making her nervous.

"Yeah…uh, you know what, I'm just going to go visit the bathroom. Can you order for me? Just coffee, thanks," says Castle, looking equally stiff.

Kate nods, biting her lip as she watches him disappear. She knows how hard this is for him. But if she had known before, could she really say she would have done anything differently? She's not so sure she would have despite the pain her choices caused both of them.

* * *

By the time Castle comes back there are fresh mugs of coffee and two servings of pie sitting on the table in front of them. His face looks different somehow, his eyes brighter or more alert, his skin fresher. Kate takes this as a sign of progress.

"You were gone a long time," she comments idly, probing her own slice of pie with a fork. "I was starting to get worried."

"Timing my bathroom breaks now, Beckett? What is this kindergarten?" he nips back, dropping his head down to stare at his lap in regret the second the words are out of his mouth and his irritation dies. "Sorry, that was—"

"_Deserved?_" offers Kate, with a wry smile. "It's okay, you can say it," she tells him, when he looks back up again.

Castle takes a swig of coffee, enjoying the hot burn of bitter liquid down his throat. He fills his mouth with it, lets it sit there for a few seconds before swallowing. As good as any IV bag of fluids, he thinks, almost instantly feeling better when the caffeine begins to hit his bloodstream.

"You got pie," he comments, stating the obvious, before picking up the fork sitting at his place setting and spearing a plump piece of peach, lifting it from its golden, gelatin throne.

"You know…you'd make a good cop with observational skills like that," teases Kate, watching him from across the table, her own mug cradled to her chest, as he finally sits back and gazes at her.

"Is…is that supposed to be funny?"

Kate shrugs. She wants _them_ back so desperately that she'll try anything. She wants _him_ back. "It's no worse a joke than most of yours," she challenges, eyeing him over the rim of her cheap, brown, crackle-glazed coffee mug.

For a second or two he thinks maybe this is the way to go, maybe this is just how they do it as a team, as a partnership, even as a…a couple. Ignore the massive elephant in the room, overlook the gaps in her story, forgive, forget, let it all go. But then he knows only too well – has a couple of decree absolute to prove it – what comes of not talking, not sharing, and not being honest.

* * *

"Tell me about after?" he asks after a beat of silence, spearing another piece of fruit.

"_After?_" frowns Kate, shaking her head to let him know that she doesn't understand what he's referring to.

"After I came to see you at the hospital that day. You promised to call, I left…what then?"

There's no bitterness or accusation in his voice now, just clipped resignation and a need to know. So Kate nods slowly, takes another sip of coffee and then sets the mug down on the tabletop between her hands.

"After you left I—" She pauses, fingering the long handle of her fork, her eyes lowered to the table. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"Tell me," is all Castle can summon in reply. He's afraid of what he's going to hear – her thought process, her rational for abandoning him, for thinking she could turn her love for him off like a switch…like he's trying to do now. But he needs to hear it if he is to begin to heal and move on.

"Okay, well, I finally had the conversation with Josh later that evening."

"Conversation?"

"Yeah, he came to see me after his shift. And I told him…I told him that it was over," nods Kate, still toying with her fork. "He didn't seem surprised. Maybe by the timing, because I was still so weak after the surgery…but other than that…" she shrugs. "He didn't try to change my mind or argue that we had something worth fighting for. I think we'd both known for a long time…" confesses Kate, slowly raising her eyes to meet Castle's.

"Known?"

"That I wasn't in the same relationship as he was. That things weren't right between us. That…"

"_That?_" prompts Castle, when Kate dries up.

"That the connection you and I had would always get in the way no matter how much he tried to ignore it. He wasn't the jealous type. I'll give him that. But I…I wasn't really _present_ when I was with him in anything but the most rudimentary of ways."

"Meaning?"

"You really want me to spit it out?" asks Kate, darting her eyes over to the counter to make sure no one is listening in or can overhear them.

"Yeah. I think you _owe_ me, Beckett."

Kate sighs and grits her teeth. "I was physically there for what little time we managed to cobble together. But my mind was always somewhere else. He used to blame it on the job in the beginning, on never being able to shut off, always being on-call for the next DB, even when I wasn't the one on-call. That excuse wore pretty thin eventually…when he saw how _we_ were together."

"And how _was_ that? I'm…I'm not quite sure what was real and what wasn't anymore," Castle says, a little testily.

Kate drops her fork against her plate with a clatter. "Castle, _stop_. You're better than this," she fires back. "You _know_ how we were…_are_ together. It's easy, fun…the banter, the flirting, how in sync we always are with one another. It just flows. We have _never_ had to try. None of what you experienced when we were together wasn't real. None of it."

"Except your lies," interjects Castle, coolly.

"Except that I felt more for you that I let on. Is that such a bad thing? That I felt _more_ than I showed? That I was scared of losing what we already had? That I wanted to protect you? Castle, that's my _job_."

"_Yes!_ Of course it's a bad thing. Kate, you left me thinking—" He rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration, disturbing its usual neatness. "God, I don't even know what I was thinking anymore. All I know is that you left and I heard nothing from you for three months. I'm never getting that time back. But I need to understand what was going on with you back then if I'm to make any sense of where we are now."

* * *

Kate drops her head into her hands briefly, gazing with unseeing eyes down at her plate. When she looks up again, Castle is sitting quietly, staring at her with such longing on his face that she finds she can't deny him an explanation any longer.

And just like that, it's as if their anger is a fuel – spent - used up between them in the flash bang of their heated argument. Exhaustion and something that could be either defeat or acceptance settles quietly between them.

"I can tell you what you want to know, Castle. But I'm not sure how much it will help us now."

"I _need_ to know, Kate. If you've learned anything about me over the years it must be that. And if you're hoping for some kind of...of forgiveness from me..."

"That would be nice."

"Then you know what to do."

"The story?" she asks, her voice softening along with her expression. "You need the story?"

Castle nods and slowly begins to pick at his pie. "Please. Just tell me the story. That's all I'm asking."

_TBC..._


	7. Chapter 7 They Say Time Heals Everything

_A/N: Thank you again for your enthusiasm for this take on post-47 Seconds. I really appreciate your support and encouragement._

* * *

**Chapter 7: They Say Time Heals Everything**

_Previously…_

_Kate drops her head into her hands briefly, gazing with unseeing eyes down at her plate. When she looks up again, Castle is sitting quietly, staring at her with such longing on his face that she finds she can't deny him an explanation any longer._

_And just like that, it's as if their anger is a fuel – spent - used up between them in the flash bang of their heated argument. Exhaustion and something that could be either defeat or acceptance settles quietly between them._

_"I can tell you what you want to know, Castle. But I'm not sure how much it will help us now."_

_"I need to know, Kate. If you've learned anything about me over the years it must be that. And if you're hoping for some kind of...of forgiveness from me..."_

_"That would be nice."_

_"Then you know what to do."_

_"The story?" she asks, her voice softening along with her expression. "You need the story?"_

_Castle nods and slowly begins to pick at his pie. "Please. Just tell me the story. That's all I'm asking."_

* * *

"Okay. Okay. I can do that," she agrees.

"Thank you."

Kate waves the waitress over to top up their coffees. And it seems even this complete stranger can read the intensity of their conversation, since she remains hovering just on the edge of Kate's eye line for a minute or so before being given the all clear to approach. The second she departs the table Kate begins to recount her tale.

"As soon as I was strong enough to leave the hospital, my dad drove me away from the city. I was so—" She pauses to meet Castle's eye, her hands clasped around the worn mug for warmth. "Don't be angry when I say this, but it felt as if I was grief-stricken…only for myself."

Castle doesn't comment. He just listens in silence.

"I can't remember anything of the journey. My dad had gone up a few days before to get the cabin ready, air the place out. Bedding, towels, food, books…he even had to go to my apartment and pack my clothes and toiletries for me," she admits, looking ashamed somehow.

Kate stares down at the dark swirl of coffee in the mug before her, sorrow from that time etched into her features, and then she looks back up at Castle. "I haven't had to rely on anyone like that since I was a child, Castle. Can you imagine how that felt?"

"You could have come to me."

She shakes her head, definitively. "No. No, I couldn't. I was like an infant again. Weak, pretty helpless at first…I cried more in those first few weeks than I have since my mother died. _Me! _A homicide detective."

"Did you think I would _judge_ you?" asks Castle, his expression both wounded and horrified. "Kate, you'd been _shot_. You almost died."

Kate's features harden. She becomes resolute, reflecting her mood at that time. "No. I knew that if I saw you again I wouldn't be able to go through with it. I wouldn't be able to turn my back on you, walk away...let you go."

Her confession settles between them with an uncanny tangibility – a painful memory for her and a raw, fresh wound of an insight for him - a dark shape viewed equally by both of them.

When Castle finally looks up from studying the scratched surface in front of him, there is naked pain in his eyes. His hands are balled into fists beneath the table where Kate cannot see them. "Do you have any idea how angry that makes me? How _upset_?"

Kate nods slowly. "I'm starting to get an idea, yes. And I am _so_ sorry for hurting you."

"We could have done this together, Kate. I could have helped you," he insists, roaming her face with wary eyes.

* * *

They are crossing so many lines tonight, freely trading truths back and forth, and it feels liberating and terrifying at the same time. He almost expects her to shut down and flee at any second if he says the wrong thing. But a greater force is at play here, some bigger need, to get at the truth maybe or because his loss today has obliterated the normal rules and boundaries that exist between them. Maybe he simply no longer has anything to lose. Whatever it is, it keeps him forging on, pushing her for answers and himself to offer up the truth, even when it causes them both pain.

"You didn't have to go through a second of that by yourself. I would have helped you and expected nothing in return. You should have known that."

"Castle, you're not listening to me. I was trying to forget you. To get you out of my system." She pauses, shame coloring her face. "I was _running away_. I've never run away from anything in my life."

"So why run then? _Hmm?_" he pushes, anger making his pulse pound.

"Because things between us had been building and building. It was only a matter of time until we crossed a line. After that there was no way back. Not for me. Surely you can see that? First we had that fight at my apartment—"

"I said some unforgiveable things that night. I shouldn't have—"

"No," Kate waves her hand dismissively. "No, you were right. About everything. In fact, I think the reason I got so mad at you was because I was trying to push you harder. I wanted you to go further…to say more."

"Believe me, I wish I had."

Kate shrugs. "Water under the bridge. I sent you away, and then…Montgomery," she says, biting her lip and looking him in the eye. "I never thanked you properly for what you did that night."

"Kate, I had your back, that's all. That's what partners—"

"No, Rick, what you did went way beyond that. I'm pretty sure I would have died in that hangar right along with Roy if you hadn't been there looking out for me."

"Don't say that," hisses Castle, automatically stretching his fingers across the table, reaching for her hand.

One of the Uniforms from the booth near the door swaggers passed them right at that moment on his way to the bathroom, accompanied by the dull thud of heavy boots and the metallic clunk of a utility belt, and Castle quickly withdraws his hand to his own side of the table.

Kate clears her throat and sits back against the bench seating, putting a little more distance between them. She's not trying to reel him back in with some sob story in a bid for sympathy anyway. He has to hear the full, sometimes ugly truth, and then judge for himself, without any pressure or manipulation from her, how he feels now, all these months later.

* * *

"Anyway, I've kind of gone off course. You wanted the story."

Castle coughs and then hides his own awkwardness behind the rim of his coffee mug, the brief moment between them now over. "Yeah. That'd be good."

"My dad stayed with me for the first couple of weeks, helped me manage my pain meds, forced me to get out of bed, cooked for me, talked to me, he even read to me some nights when I couldn't sleep. I think he could see how depressed I was becoming and it worried him. I always buried my problems in my work in the past. My coping mechanism. Suddenly I didn't have that hole to hide in anymore."

Kate pauses, and her gaze drifts to the middle distance, her eyes losing focus as she remembers that painful time. "I thought about you almost every minute of the day," she tells him, her eyes filling with tears. She swipes one away from her cheek when it tumbles out, and then she carries on. "Everything I did back then, from breathing to eating to sleeping, caused me physical pain. But that pain was nothing compared to the pain of missing you. If you hear _anything_ I say tonight, Castle, hear that and believe it. I missed you so much," she tells him, sucking in a shaky breath to prevent herself from losing it in public.

"The feeling was mutual, if that helps any," Castle tells her, keeping his eyes glued to the table, because he knows that if he looks at her now he will only forgive her too quickly, and they both need to learn from this experience if they are to come out of it stronger and not repeat the same mistakes in future.

"I thought I was protecting you. I thought it made sense to sacrifice my own happiness if I could keep you safe by not letting you be around me anymore. They failed when they tried to kill me that day. So I was still a target. I couldn't have you near me and risk you getting caught in the crossfire if the worst were to happen. That is the God's honest truth, Castle. Only, I didn't count on a few things intervening to derail my plans."

"Such as?" he asks, tersely, fighting to control both his irrational anger that she took these choices away from him and his own deeply sorrowful memories of that time.

"My dad thought my plan to go up to the cabin was a good one. That's why he agreed to help me organize everything. He thought getting out of town, away from danger as he saw it, the fresh air, happy childhood memories even…he thought all of those things would help me heal. But I kept one small fact from him, and when he found out…let's just say he wasn't happy."

"What was that?"

"My plan to cut you out of my life."

"How _does_ one do that exactly?" asks Castle, tartly, barely missing a beat.

"If you're looking for tips, I have no idea," admits Kate, raising her hand to indicate herself and then her partner. "Because, clearly, I failed."

"So…what went wrong?"

"You're harder to forget than I anticipated," Kate admits, with a wry smile. "Feel free to gloat," she tells him, waiting for a trademark Castle response. When it doesn't come, she asks, "Too soon?"

"Yeah, just a little," replies Castle, with a brusque nod.

"I hadn't realized how much being apart from you would affect me…before you even get to my stupid plan to try to forget you altogether. We spent _so_ much time together…I hadn't realized how much. Everyday I was on duty at the Twelfth, every body drop, every crime scene, every interview, there you were by my side, bringing me coffee, making me laugh, helping in ways you will never understand. I missed you with a physical ache."

"I feel like I should apologize or something."

Kate almost laughs at her partner's dry remark.

* * *

"My dad saw through me pretty quickly. He kept asking if I'd called to let you know where I was and how I was doing, when you were coming up to visit. Then he started asking if _he_ could call and bring you up to speed. I finally had to explain my real motive for leaving town when I caught him with his cell phone in his hand, tapping in a number he had written on a scrap of paper that he kept folded in his wallet."

"Your dad had my number?"

Kate nods. "Yeah, turns out parents can be full of surprises just when you think you know everything about them. The only way I could stop him from calling you was to come clean."

"What did he say?"

"Oh, he was gentle at first. Patient. You've met him. He doesn't like to interfere."

"But that changed?"

"He could see how miserable I was making myself. He sat me down one afternoon and quietly told me that I was most likely deluding myself if I thought I could ignore my feelings for you. He pointed out how unfair I was being to you after everything you'd been through, how you'd tried to save me, stood by me after— He also pointed out how honorable you were, stepping aside to give Josh his place."

"Believe me, I didn't feel honorable at the time," admits Castle, bitterly remembering his fight with the surgeon in the hospital corridor.

"He said another thing that surprised me too. He told me that he knew how you felt about me from just watching you stand beside me at Roy's funeral, while I was giving the eulogy, right before…" Kate tails off and Castle nods to let her know that he understands exactly when she means. "He said you looked so proud. To be by my side. To be my partner."

"I am proud, Kate. Never forget that. You're an amazing woman."

Kate nods and manages to thank him, her voice barely rising above a whisper. Then she clears her throat. "When I told him what you said after I was shot…when I was lying on the grass, he looked at me funny. And when I asked him what was on his mind, he said 'you mean you didn't know? I thought everyone knew'," Kate adds, with a sorrowful chuckle.

Castle listens with rapt attention to her tell him these secrets about their time apart, and when she mentions how her father knew he was in love with her, he winces inwardly, for he has a few secrets of his own that he's been keeping close to his chest.

"And yet you chose to lie about remembering that day?" he reminds her, the accusatory words flying out of his mouth before he really thinks it through, especially in light of his own misdemeanors.

As usual, Kate's response is that of mind reader.

"Have you never lied for the right reasons? To protect someone you love?" asks Kate, looking Castle right in the eye.

It has taken her months of therapy to get to the point where she can talk to him like this - openly, honestly, directly - and she feels proud of herself for finally getting there.

* * *

Castle clears his throat and begins tapping his fork on the side of his plate, sounding out a nervous rhythm. "Actually, now might be a good time to tell you that…that the first time I met your dad wasn't at Roy's funeral."

Kate looks up from her own plate. "_Oh?_"

"Yeah, your dad came to see me at the loft one night," he confesses, so dry-mouthed by the end of this sentence that he has to take a sip of coffee to get his tongue working again.

Kate looks a little startled by this sudden confession, but she tries to cover her shock as best she can. _She_ is the one in the dock here tonight for her own wrongdoing. She will not capitalize on some minor infringement Castle may have made to take the heat off herself.

"When was this?" she asks, trying to mask her rampant curiosity, imagining it was probably while she was sequestered away in the woods of Upstate New York, licking her wounds, all by herself.

"The night before I came to see you at your apartment to ask you to walk away from your mother's case."

Silence. Silence stretching out without limit of time.

"Kate? Please say something?"

"_That_ was my dad's idea?" asks Kate, hoarsely, as if she's been winded.

"Well, no, it—"

"_Was it_ or wasn't it, Castle?" she asks, sharply.

Castle sighs and runs a hand through his hair in discomfort, feeling as if he's telling tales on Jim Beckett. "Look. He asked me to talk to you. He wanted to know how dangerous were these men that you were going after."

"What did you tell him?"

"I couldn't lie, Beckett. He's your father."

"How cosy. The two of you cooking up plans together behind my back."

Castle slaps his hand flat on the tabletop, making the sugar bowl jump between them. "No. No, Kate you do _not_ get to act like the wounded party here. We both wanted to keep you safe. He had already lost his wife. He didn't want to lose you too. And for some reason, he thought _I_ was the only one you would listen to. Fat lot of good I turned out to be," Castle adds bitterly, immediately looking away from their table and away from Kate.

* * *

Kate lets go of a long, slow breath, deciding after a moment's clear thinking that fighting over this minor point that belongs in the past really isn't going to help them. Their motives came from a place of caring, just as hers did.

"Hey," she says, kicking his foot under the table to get his attention. "Don't blame yourself. I can be too stubborn for my own good sometimes," she admits, with trademark understatement.

"You don't say," remarks Castle, just a hint of humor coming through in the sarcastic remark.

"Now at least I know where he got your number."

"So…am I forgiven?"

"Castle, there's nothing to forgive. What you tried to do for me… Don't think I don't know how hard that was for you. Asking me to walk away, to turn my back on my mom's case. I'll deal with my dad later," she adds, with a smile.

"So, you said there were a few things that derailed your plans. Aside from Jim Beckett being a member of the Rick Castle Fan Club," he says, waiting for a smile from Kate before he goes on. She duly delivers, though there is surprise mixed in there too; surprise at his sudden levity, he supposes. "Can I ask what else got in the way?"

"You look like you're almost starting to enjoy yourself," she observes, sitting back and crossing her arms.

"I wouldn't go that far. Just remind me to thank your dad sometime."

"Do you have something to thank him for?" fishes Kate, holding her breath for his answer, her heart suddenly racing with unearned optimism.

"Let's just carry on with the story, shall we, and then I'll let you know."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr Castle."

"I had a good teacher, Detective."

"Touché."

* * *

Kate sips her coffee and finishes the rest of her pie before continuing. It's getting late and she is exhausted, but she feels as if they might finally be getting somewhere, traces of the old them surfacing now and again. She uses this incentive to find new energy to carry on.

"So…yeah, the story. I...I stayed on at the cabin by myself after dad came back to the city for work."

"I hate to think of you up there all alone."

"I was perfectly safe. I had my gun."

"I know you can take care of yourself, Kate. I don't just mean your safety."

"You mean was I lonely?"

Castle nods.

"Trying to forget the one thing that you can't stop thinking about gets to be exhausting. Honestly, I was too tired to be lonely. I tried to keep busy to prevent myself from thinking about all the things I was missing back home…my apartment, the boys, Lanie, my job…_you_. I went for walks, eventually I could do some light exercise, I slept and I read…a lot."

Castle lifts his eyebrows on hearing that she turned to books to help her escape her loneliness, obviously interested to hear what she was reading. Kate doesn't give him an immediate answer though.

"That actually brings me back to one of the things that derailed my plan. I gave my dad a list of the books I wanted him to take to the cabin for me before we left…books I'd bought a long time ago and never got round to reading. I'm afraid I kept all of yours off that list, Castle. I'm sure you can figure out why by now."

"You'd resigned from the Rick Castle Fan Club. I get it."

Kate smiles, circling the rim of her mug with her fingertip, before she slowly looks up at her partner. "Yeah. Only…turns out I have a lifetime membership."

Castle tips his head to one side, frowning in puzzlement at her comment.

"I was having my mail redirected from home. One day the mailman showed up with a parcel. I thought maybe my dad had sent me something to keep me amused. Turns out it was my pre-ordered copy of _'Heat Rises'_. Hot off the press."

"_Oh._" Castle covers his mouth with his hand. He's secretly delighted that she was eager enough to pre-order a copy, but he manages not to comment.

"Yeah. I—I must have sat there on the porch swing for an hour just _staring_ at your picture on the back of the book until my eyes went blurry," confesses Kate. "I…I remember reaching down to touch your face, only—" She breaks off when tears clog her throat and she can't continue speaking without taking a break.

"We…uh…we can do this someplace more private if you'd like. I don't want to put you through this in—"

Kate clears her throat and squares her shoulders. "No. No, I'll be fine. You deserve to hear the truth, Castle. That's the least I can do."

"Okay, if you're sure?"

"Yeah. I am," she assures him, downing the last of her coffee. "I put the book back in its wrapping and then I buried it at the bottom of a drawer. I lasted maybe a day before I jogged back from the lake to dig it out and begin reading. Castle, the dedication…"

_- To Captain Roy Montgomery, NYPD. He made a stand and taught me all I need to know about bravery and character. - _

"There was nothing I wrote in there that wasn't true. He was a good man who made some mistakes. Which of us can say we haven't made mistakes, Beckett? He spent a long time atoning for his…gave his life in the end."

"Yeah, I agree. It just…it brought it all back, you know? That night at my apartment, all the things I should have said, the way you put your life on the line for me again and again like it was nothing, your belief in me, your loyalty...and all the other little things. You make it _impossible_ not to love you. That book only reminded me of that. You were brave and you had character when I first met you. You might have annoyed the hell out of me in the beginning, but you were never not a good man, Rick. I realized that day how screwed up I'd become."

"How long into your stay was this?"

"About six weeks."

"And you still couldn't pick up the phone or send me a text?"

"It would have been the right thing to do, I don't doubt that now. And, Castle, if I could take back some of my choices, I would. But in my own twisted way I was trying to get better for you. Can you see that?" she asks gently.

She's telling him she still loves him now, and that's so distracting. It's messing with his head. He finds that he has nothing to say.

* * *

"My dad came to visit that weekend. He found your book lying open on the coffee table and he asked me about it. I felt so ashamed when I tried to explain to him again what I had been thinking when I ran away from New York and cut you out of my life."

"You were scared…wounded," he says, standing up for her for the first time.

"That's no excuse. I hurt the most important person in my life. And like you said, we can never get that time back."

"You were trying to keep me and my family safe, Kate. I can see that now…more than I did before."

"No." She shakes her head. "I think you've been drinking Katie's Kool Aid, Castle. I listened to my dad talking about my mom that weekend, about the time they had together, every day precious, no matter the pain he had to go through when he lost her. He said he wouldn't change a thing if meant sharing all those years together and being able to have me. To make a family. I felt like such a coward for running away from that possibility when I listened to him talk about my mom. Losing her turned him into an alcoholic, and he _still_ cherishes every memory. The pain that comes from remembering the good times is preferable to having no good times to remember. That was his bottom line."

"Sounds like I owe your dad more than I thought."

"My dad helped a lot, yes. But you helped too, Castle. In your own words."

Castle frowns. "I don't understand."

"Your book. _Heat Rises_. It broke down my resolve, made me face the truth I'd been hiding from. I realized that if I still missed you so much after all those weeks apart, then maybe I could protect you too. Turns out I couldn't imagine my life without you in it, Castle, no matter how hard I tried. We packed up and left for the city the next day."

"And then you showed up my book signing?"

"No. Not right away. That came later."

* * *

Castle leans forward, intrigued.

"My first night back in the city I decided to take a walk in my neighborhood to clear my head. I knew that you would probably be mad at me and I was trying to work up to seeing you, trying to figure out what to say... Anyway, I was walking past an alley and all of a sudden there was this really loud bang, like a gunshot."

Kate shakes her head and then covers her face with her hands.

"What happened?"

"Someone had slammed a dumpster lid behind a restaurant, I think. Next thing I knew I was lying flat on the ground with my face in the dirt and my hands on top my head."

"PTSD?" asks Castle, his blue eyes suddenly shaded with concern.

Kate nods. "That was about a month before the book signing. I realized I had a hell of a lot of work to put in before I was ready to protect you or anyone else."

"So, what did you do then?"

"Next day I found a therapist through the department. Started seeing him three times a week. Everywhere I went, every bus shelter, every bookstore window seemed to have your face in it. I even caught you giving an interview on the Today Show with Ann Curry* one morning."

"I'm sorry if me and my face haunted you, Beckett."

"Don't you mean your ruggedly handsome face?" asks Kate, falling back on an old joke.

"I think I was...less than handsome at that time. Probably I was the haunted one. So…therapy helped?" he asks, switching the subject away from his own misery, lest he sound self-pitying.

"Uh…yeah. Not at first. I found it hard to open up in the beginning. I'd shut myself away Upstate all those weeks, tried to deny every feeling I had. Just getting used to being back in the city again was hard. There was so much noise, too many people, even the smells were overwhelming at first. But gradually, I started to talk, and I learned more about my own feelings, how being shot had affected me, about my reaction to my mother's death, the wall I'd built up to protect myself from feeling that pain. It may look so easy saying all of these things to you now – telling you how I feel about you – but it wasn't back then. I was a jumbled mess. My thoughts…some days all I wanted to do was sleep. Dr. Burke helped me out of that, so that by the time I came to see you I was better. Not fixed as you know, but better."

"Did you ever think about coming clean…about lying, I mean? After you felt stronger?"

"All the time. But then things seemed so good between us. I know it's no excuse, but I didn't want to rock the boat. I was afraid of how you might react and I hoped that maybe we could just get to a place in our relationship where it wouldn't matter anymore because you'd know how I felt about you. Does that make sense?"

Castle nods, though in truth he is still mulling everything over, trying to figure out how he feels about this deluge of information. "And today?"

"Today I got sloppy…and angry. But it's like you said, if the bombing proves anything, it's that bad things can happen no matter what you do. Nobody's tomorrow is guaranteed. I should have acted a long time ago, told you the truth, and maybe we wouldn't be sitting here now."

"Well, for what it's worth, I appreciate you being so honest with me tonight."

Kate bobs her head in thanks. "You're welcome. It's long overdue."

* * *

Castle sinks back against his seat, and then he stretches his arms high above his head, interlinking his hands and turning his palms towards the ceiling, reaching up to his full height until his muscles tremble, unable to stifle the yawn that accompanies this tired gesture.

Eventually, he looks around the near empty coffee shop, and then he turns back to face his waiting partner. "So…what happens now?" he asks, with a lift of his eyebrows.

Kate offers him a tender smile and a gentle shrug. "That's really up to you."

_TBC..._

* * *

_Note: *Ann Curry was still on the regular team of the Today Show back at the beginning of S4 when Kate refers to seeing Castle being interviewed about Heat Rises._


	8. Chapter 8 - But I'm Still Waiting

_A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing the last chapter. I hope everyone is having a good week._

* * *

**Chapter 8: But I'm Still Waiting**

_Previously…_

_"Did you ever think about coming clean…about lying, I mean? After you felt stronger?"_

_"All the time. But then things seemed so good between us. I know it's no excuse, but I didn't want to rock the boat. I was afraid of how you might react and I hoped that maybe we could just get to a place in our relationship where it wouldn't matter anymore because you'd know how I felt about you. Does that make sense?"_

_Castle nods, though in truth he is still mulling everything over, trying to figure out how he feels about this deluge of information. "And today?"_

_"Today I got sloppy…and angry. But it's like you said, if the bombing proves anything, it's that bad things can happen no matter what you do. Nobody's tomorrow is guaranteed. I should have acted a long time ago, told you the truth, and maybe we wouldn't be sitting here now."_

_"Well, for what it's worth, I appreciate you being so honest with me tonight."_

_Kate bobs her head in thanks. "You're welcome. It's long overdue."_

_Castle sinks back against his seat, and then he stretches his arms high above his head, interlinking his hands and turning his palms towards the ceiling, reaching up to his full height until his muscles tremble and his whole body shakes, unable to stifle the yawn that accompanies this tired gesture._

_Eventually, he relaxes again, looking around the near empty coffee shop, before turning back to face his waiting partner. "So…what happens now?" he asks, with a lift of his eyebrows._

_Kate offers him a tender smile and a gentle shrug. "That's really up to you."_

* * *

Castle taps the tabletop with the tips of his fingers relentlessly, his thumbs hanging free of the edge. When the drumming and the silence becomes too much, Kate waves to the waitress behind the coffee bar, signaling for the check.

Castle finally looks up when he hears Kate rooting around in her purse for her wallet, summoned back to the present by the tinkle of coins and the rustle of notes.

"It's getting late, we should probably—"

"Yeah," nods Castle, suddenly bone weary with the weight of the emotional fallout released by a single, overheard conversation. "Here, let me," he says, diving into his back pocket for his own wallet.

"Save your money, Castle. I've got this one," insists Kate, holding up her hand to bat his cash away if he tries to press it upon her.

"Thanks," he says, backing down this time.

"I think I owe you a lot more than a slice of pie and a cup of coffee."

"Maybe. But start trying to repay that debt…that is an _awful_ lot of coffee. Could take a while," he says, glancing up to meet her startled look with a twinge of a smile.

"Does that mean…?" she asks, with a hopeful list to her voice.

Castle edges out of the booth and then stands, his back protesting all the while, but he doesn't directly answer her question. "I'd say, until tomorrow, Detective, but I do believe you have the day off."

Kate nods as they walk out of the coffee shop together. The cops are long gone - back behind the wheel of their squad car or out on foot patrol. Only a couple of teenagers remain, hunched over a table in the window, staring starry-eyed at one another as they share a milkshake through two candy-striped straws.

"Gates insisted. So…I guess I now have a longer than expected weekend."

* * *

Once out on the street, they pause, facing one another, the weight of everything said and unsaid swirling between them like a vortex.

Kate feels as if she has been stripped raw tonight. She can feel every brush of her clothing against her skin: the underwiring of her bra pressing into her ribcage with every breath, the fine wool of her plum-colored sweater caressing her back and arms beneath her coat, the fabric of her grey pants moving against her legs with every step; all of her old defenses dissolved away in an effort to let Castle see her as she truly is. But this exposition has left her vulnerable, and though her tale has now come to a natural conclusion, her partner has yet to pick up the loose ends and re-knot them to put her back together again. He has even failed to ask any further questions of his own, behavior so unlike him that it puzzles Kate. It's almost as if they have just run out of steam and are parting now because neither of them knows what else to do.

"Right. So…see you Monday?" Castle asks, offering her his hand with what Kate now considers to be stiff formality.

She is about to take his proffered hand through force of habit; it is the polite thing to do. But…_then what_, she wonders. Does she let him go home alone to wallow, before they simply slip back into their old routine and their old, familiar roles on Monday? She may not know what happens next, but she does know one thing - they can't keep living in this strange land of subtextual conversation and stolen, longing-filled glances they have constructed for themselves. Not now that all her cards have been laid on the table.

"_Actually_," she says, letting her hand fall back to her side, while Castle's remains at right-angles between them, "do you fancy maybe doing something this weekend?"

She feels her cheeks flood with color at this simple request, and she has to bite her lip to prevent herself from withdrawing the offer instantly, jumping into the back of the nearest cab to escape. She finds herself grateful for the concealing shroud of darkness, thanks to the lack of direct street lighting where they stand. Because despite all that they have shared tonight, she is still terrible at asking him for anything personal.

When Castle seems to be taking his time to mull over her offer, she rapidly becomes unable to prevent herself from intervening. "I…I mean you probably already have plans, but if—"

"Could we maybe talk tomorrow? Would you mind?" asks Castle, rubbing the back of his neck again, revealing his own heightened level of discomfort.

Kate instantly begins to back away. "Sure. Whatever you need. It doesn't have to be tomorrow. Take a couple of days…the whole weekend. I'll see you Monday though?" she asks, unable to leave without at least knowing that – that he will be back by her side at the precinct at the very least.

"Oh, yeah. Sure. And Kate, I hope you understand? Tonight was…"

"A lot, I know," agrees Kate, feeling her toes curl at the awkwardness of the moment; as if the window they had managed to shore open is in the process of slamming shut. "Honestly, take your time. You know where I am if… Right, well, I see a cab. I'll just—" she says, raising her hand to hail the fastest route out of here.

* * *

She's over by the curb, her teeth digging into her lip, her eyes raised in a final burst of hope towards his. "Well, g'night," she whispers, offering up a parting wave.

"Yeah, safe home," nods Castle, and for a second she thinks this is how it will end. She cracked open her heart to him, displayed all that she is – good, bad and everything in between – and it simply wasn't enough. Or worse, her offering of honesty came too late and he has simply inoculated his heart against her and—

Castle almost knocks her off her feet with a hug that comes out of nowhere. One minute she is talking herself off the ledge and the next second he is surrounding her, strong arms banded around her body crushing her to his chest.

Her brain is overwhelmed trying to catch up, to live in the moment, to experience this offering to the fullest before he withdraws once more. Before that window really does slam shut. So she inhales and hangs on, absorbing every nuance of his scent, taking it apart layer by layer and then putting it back together again, relishing the strength of his grip, memorizing the sensation of his cheek briefly sliding over hers until it comes to rest against her hair, the hardness of his thigh muscles nudging against hers, his fingers pressing either side of her spine…

And then he is gone.

Just a whispered thank you, and, in the blink of an eye, gone, leaving her standing startled and statue-like by the curb until the cabdriver yells at her, honking his horn in impatience. Finally she comes to enough to remember where she is - staring at Richard Castle's receding back as he strolls off down the street, his shoulders slightly hunched, the glow from his cell phone illuminating his chin and cheeks an eerie blue, as he holds it in his hand to check the time or make a call.

Going. Going. Gone.

* * *

Castle is sitting in his study nursing a Scotch when Martha comes floating in between the bookcase walls on a cloud of Bond 9's _Fire Island_ and a hazy waft of peacock blue chiffon, instantly scenting this masculine space with top notes of honey, sensual tuberose and patchouli.

"How many of those have you had?" she drawls, eyeing her son with a mother's special kind of sympathy.

"Not nearly enough. Care to join me?" asks Castle, holding up the heavy-bottomed crystal tumbler. He tilts the glass from side to side so that the honey-golden liquid rolls around languidly, like a drunk man attempting to stand in a rowing boat, coating the sides and gilding Castle's fingers a jaundiced, flaxen hue.

"I take it your mercy mission didn't end well?" his mother observes, archly.

Castle pours his mother a Scotch and hands it to her, asking distractedly, "Mercy mission?"

"You can't have forgotten that valiant little speech you gave me already? How this isn't about _her_ anymore. This is about the victims, about doing something real…something that matters. Ring any bells?"

Castle's sinks back down into the leather chair behind his desk with a disgusted sigh and a flash of sarcasm. "Don't you just love it when someone quotes _you_ back to _you_?"

"Darling, I'm an actress. Kind of goes with the territory," Martha points out loftily, perching on the arm of the sofa that nestles beneath one of the apartment's great, East-facing windows with all the drama and aplomb worthy of an actress of her pretentions.

"Very funny, mother."

Martha simply takes a swig of Scotch and raises the glass to salute her son.

"What's got you so riled up anyway? That switch not as easy to flip as you thought? And where have you been all night? Not out drinking your sorrows away, I hope?"

Castle keeps his eyes trained on his glass. "No. I've been with Beckett, actually."

Martha's eyes widen in surprise, her voice filling with unconcealed curiosity. "_Oh?_"

"Yeah. Turns out I'm better at confronting issues than I thought."

Martha leans forward, her interest clearly piqued. "Does that mean you went back to talk to her about what you overheard?"

Castle nods, the only sound the sharp crack of an ice cube expanding in his glass.

"Good for you, darling," she congratulates him. "Well, that's progress. Right?"

Castle nods again, downing the rest of his drink and then reaching for the bottle to pour himself a second one.

"So what did she have to say for herself?"

Castle pauses a second to consider the question – how to sum up three or four hours of deeply private conversation in a sentence or two? "She said that she lied and then left town to protect me and my family."

"And…do you believe her?"

* * *

Castle takes another minute to generate a response, moving his wrist in a circular motion to keep the liquid touring the sides of his glass, as if it will set like molten lava gone cold without the liquefying properties of perpetual motion. As if _he_ will become trapped forever in the amber of his own misery, if he himself fails to keep moving in some small way.

"She was pretty convincing. I have to give her that. And pretty cut up, if I take her story at face value."

"Leaving the city for all those weeks to go and live in a cabin in the woods does sounds pretty selfless, darling," remarks Martha, the whole idea of nature and roughing it so abhorrent to her that she'd rather die than endure a night without air conditioning and wall-to-wall carpeting. "So what brought her back?"

"Turns out she's not quite as selfless as she thought," says Castle, dryly, tipping his head back to swallow another burning mouthful of whisky.

"In other words, she missed you?" translates Martha, her expression softening into a smile of sympathy for her son's deep hurt.

"Yeah…that."

Martha sighs, her head tilted to one side as she watches her son struggle. "I think I prefer the way Detective Beckett described it."

"She said that she is so like her mom. She felt as if she was on this unavoidable path to destruction. She didn't want me near her when the inevitable happened."

"Richard, I have to say that sounds fair. What you went through at Captain Montgomery's funeral…how close you came. Darling, it sounds as if she did you a favor."

"Then why doesn't it feel like it, _hmm_?" he asks, with an uncharacteristic flash of anger. "When I think back to that time…" he shakes his head, ruefully. "Mother, I could have _helped_ her."

"Some people just aren't good at asking for help, and if we are to believe what she told you, helping her would only have put you in more danger, Richard."

Castle sighs, rubbing his eyes with his hand. "I don't know what to believe. She sounded sincere, distraught even, about the time she spent away. When she came back to the city, that's when her PTSD kicked in and she started going for therapy."

"She didn't feel she could tell you that at the time?"

"Somehow I don't think sharing a weakness is Beckett's strong suit."

Martha seems to mull this over for a second before asking anything further. "And did she explain why she didn't come clean and tell you the truth once you two got close again and started working together?"

"She thought we were doing okay…better than okay, I think. Things were so good between us that she didn't want to rock the boat."

Martha's voice softens, because she can hear in that explanation the love the detective clearly has for her son. "I can understand that."

"Mother, I told her I loved her and _nothing_ changed for us. We're still just partners."

"Maybe she thought it was safer that way?"

"For whom? _Kate?_ Have you been talking to her? Because I swear—"

"Darling, I am not saying that I condone anything Beckett did. I'm just trying to see things from her point of view in order to help you understand her motivation," placates Martha, placing down her glass and stepping forward to reach out and touch her son.

* * *

Martha draws Castle into a brief hug and then she releases him, stroking her hand over his cheek with great tenderness. "How did you leave things tonight?"

Castle shrugs. "I don't need to be back at the precinct until Monday."

"So, _what?_ You're just going to wallow in the past and drown your sorrows for the next couple of days? Richard, what good is that going to do either of you?"

Castle sighs and shakes his head, frustrated at himself. "I know that. I do. And she did ask if I wanted to do something with her this weekend…"

"So? What are you waiting for? _Call her!_ Take her out to dinner. Girls love to be wined and dined, believe me."

"She was being so honest, mother. You should have seen her...heart on her sleeve for once. So I told her about her dad coming to see me, how he asked me to get her to stop looking into her mother's case."

"That's good. The fewer secrets you have between you the better."

"Agreed. Only there's one major secret just sitting right here, waiting to blow up in my face," he says, turning his laptop around until the screen is facing his mother.

"You didn't tell her about your mysterious Mr. Smith? Oh, darling, how could you leave that out?" groans Martha, her expression contorted by genuine distress.

"She said that I made it impossible for her not to love me. She said that she missed me everyday that she was away. I couldn't risk telling her about Smith and have her shut down on me again."

"Oh, darling, the real question is can you risk _not_ telling her? If you learned anything from Beckett's mistake today it's that secrets have a way of coming out, no matter how hard we try to keep them hidden. _Tell her_. If she loves you as much as she says she does, then she'll understand that you were only trying to protect her in the same way that she tried to protect you."

* * *

Kate lies back in bed with her robe pulled tightly around her. A book lies discarded in her lap, a cup of chamomile tea cooling on the nightstand. The anticlimax after tonight is crushing; like the drop in your stomach when you ride a rollercoaster, only without the laughter and the rush of adrenalin, and infinitely longer lasting.

She reaches for her cell phone, checking the screen for the umpteenth time – still no missed calls and no new texts. She sighs, her heart heavy with the weight of the unknown.

"Hey, dad," she says, smiling into the phone, trying to elevate her mood for her father. "Yeah, just thought I'd give you a call. Check you're still on for brunch on Sunday."

"Sure am. Is this gonna be the weekend Rick finally deigns to join us?" teases her dad, as he's been doing ever since she described finding her partner alive in the bank vault of the _New Amsterdam Bank & Trust_ after the robbers blew themselves up, and he saw the truth about the closeness of their partnership written all over his daughter's face.

"_Dad_," tuts Kate, shaking her head, forgetting that her father cannot see her gesture. "No, he…uh…he's busy with Alexis this weekend," she lies, biting her lip in admonition.

"You still haven't worked up the courage to ask him, have you, Katie?" laughs her dad, amused by how brave his daughter can be, except when it comes to this - telling her partner of four years how she really feels about him.

"Shut up," grouses Kate, hating that her father is right.

"Okay, I'll leave it be…for now. But you need to talk to the guy before you both get too old to do anything about it, you hear me?"

"That sounds like something Martha would say," complains Kate, with a roll of her eyes.

"Insult me all you like, Katie. But I'm gonna keep at it until you give in and tell him how you feel about him."

* * *

Kate covers her face with her free hand and cringes at what she knows is coming. "I did," she finally admits, with a wince.

She can almost hear her dad do a double-take over the line. "_Excuse me?_"

"I said, I did it. I told him everything."

"And what did he say?"

"That's just it. Rick Castle is a talker. Even _you_ know that. And he really didn't say much of anything."

"Maybe he's still processing. What you tried to do for him, Katie…it is a lot to take in."

"Yeah, well, I don't think he was as impressed by my efforts, so much as angry that I shut him out."

"Oh, Katie," sighs her dad. "You don't need me to tell you what I thought of your plan. Selfless though it was."

"I know, dad. It wasn't my smartest idea ever."

"Listen to me. Take it from your old dad, Rick Castle loves you. Now whether he takes a day or a week, a month or—"

"Dad, please stop talking. You're making me nervous," implores Kate, burying her head in her knees.

"He'll come around. That's all I'm trying to say. Now, I'll see you Sunday at the usual place. You get some rest. Oh, and Katie?"

"Yes, dad?"

"I'm proud of you."

* * *

Kate sleeps fitfully, strange dreams and the alternating sensation of feeling too warm and then too cold when she throws the covers off, tormenting her until morning. When her bed is no longer a pleasurable place to be and even a light doze seems far beyond her reach, she gets up.

Showering and dressing early for a Saturday, she dons a simple white shirt, soft, worn, light blue jeans, and flat, gold sandals with crystals embellishing the top of each foot. She lets her hair dry naturally, teasing it through with her fingers to ease out some of the tighter curls. A flash of mascara, a dusting of blush and a slick of pale lip gloss and she is ready to go, looking cool, relaxed and casual, in sharp contrast to her weekday attire. She decides that she will enjoy the day, put Castle out of her mind. She's having lunch with Lanie at one, but first she heads for the flower market in Union Square to stock up on fresh blooms for her apartment in an effort to cheer herself up.

The conversation she had with Castle last night was long overdue. She freely acknowledges that to herself, as she would to him again, if he were here. But in all the versions she has practiced and in all the scenarios she envisioned, two things are missing – firstly, that she would feel lighter with all her of secrets revealed, and secondly, that Castle would have understood or at least asked more questions of her before they parted ways. His silence is out of character, disturbing and distracting all at once.

So it is with these puzzling thoughts preoccupying her mind that she skirts the edges of Union Square's Greenmarket, unwilling to throw herself into the sharp-elbowed throng of eager Saturday morning shoppers for once. The high-strung mother's with their thousand dollar strollers and voices that could shatter glass; the well-heeled old ladies with their tiny pooches and even tinier appetites; the grungy students with their thrift store clothes, picking mysterious woodland mushrooms by hand, shelling out for chemical-free, handmade soap and buying organic quinoa by the kilo despite struggling to find the rent each month; and the tourists who look as if they have never seen a market before, their cameras and iPhones trained on displays of everyday fresh produce as though it were an exotic spice market in Marrakesh. All of New York life is here, and today, it feels kind of overwhelming.

* * *

Eventually, Kate spots a flower seller with an abundance of long-stemmed sunflowers over the heads of most of the throng; their sunny, upturned faces instantly making her feel a little happier, a little lighter, however brief their consolation.

"I'll take half a dozen, please," she tells the stallholder, paying his teenage daughter while the man with weathered hands wraps her purchases in a length of brown paper and secures it with copious amounts of Scotch tape.

The sun warms her skin as she crosses the square en route to the Blue Water Grill: a stylish seafood restaurant located on the western edge of the square at the corner of East 16th Street.

When she makes her way inside, the throng of busy people - the buzz of brunches finishing and the sound of lunches just getting underway - is what greets her; a wall of happy, well-oiled sound. She gives her name and is immediately escorted to her table by a tall, elegant, young hostess, who, were life fairer, would be on Broadway or HBO by now, making her dreams come true, instead of making reservations for overweight businessmen with fat expense accounts.

This thing with Castle - his continued silence and the uncertainty of it all - is making her anxious and jumpy, maybe even a little cross. She makes a mental note to work on her mood, _after_ she works on a cocktail, as she drifts along behind the model-come-reservationist to a prime, linen-draped, four-top situated in a corner by the window.

The girl smiles at her - a hollow, dead-eyed, fabrication of a smile - more as an afterthought, thinks Kate, since she seems infinitely more interested in the gentleman sitting bedecked in pale blue cashmere and a dark navy blazer that most likely cost more than a month's salary for both of them.

"You—you're not Lanie," she remarks, her comment filled with such obvious, inbuilt redundancy that it has her cringing on the inside, as the hostess vanishes into thin air, leaving her standing stock-still and staring by the table, ridiculously armed with a bouquet of giant, cheery-looking sunflowers to boot.

_TBC..._


	9. Chapter 9 - I've Paid A Price

_A/N: *sings* "An angsting we will go, an angsting we will go, ee aye ma daddio, an angsting we will go." ;)_

* * *

**Chapter 9: I've Paid A Price**

_Previously…_

_The sun warms her skin as she crosses the square en route to the Blue Water Grill: a stylish seafood restaurant located on the western edge of the square at the corner of East 16th Street._

_When she makes her way inside, the throng of busy people - the buzz of brunches finishing and the sound of lunches just getting underway - is what greets her; a wall of happy, well-oiled sound. She gives her name and is immediately escorted to her table by a tall, elegant, young hostess, who, were life fairer, would be on Broadway or HBO by now, making her dreams come true, instead of making reservations for overweight businessmen with fat expense accounts._

_This thing with Castle - his continued silence and the uncertainty of it all - is making her anxious and jumpy, maybe even a little cross. She makes a mental note to work on her mood, after she works on a cocktail, as she drifts along behind the model-come-reservationist to a prime, linen-draped, four-top situated in a corner by the window._

_The girl smiles at her - a hollow, dead-eyed, fabrication of a smile - more as an afterthought, thinks Kate, since she seems infinitely more interested in the gentleman sitting bedecked in pale blue cashmere and a dark navy blazer that most likely cost more than a month's salary for both of them._

_"You—you're not Lanie," she remarks, her comment filled with such obvious, inbuilt redundancy that it has her cringing on the inside, as the hostess vanishes into thin air, leaving her standing stock-still and staring by the table, ridiculously armed with a bouquet of giant, cheery-looking sunflowers to boot._

* * *

"Congratulations! You get an '_A'_ for observation, Detective."

Kate bites her lip, the sunflowers suddenly feeling bulky and awkward in her arms, their thick, green stems digging into the bones of her wrist.

"Are those for me?" asks the writer, indicating the enormous blooms with their giant, smiley faces.

"Castle, what are you doing here?"

Castle is still in the process of hastily removing his napkin from his lap, and he drops it onto the table in a messy heap, immediately standing out of courtesy and as a sign of good manners, or perhaps because he plans to leave. Kate isn't quite sure.

"You want me to go? I can go? I just thought…" He rubs the back of his neck.

"What?"

"Well…you said if I wanted to do something this weekend," he shrugs. "I thought maybe we could start with lunch…take it from there?" he suggests, his cocky opener falling away to reveal a depth of uncertainty that she finds…endearing.

"I assumed you call first. And where's Lanie?" asks Kate, looking around the large, packed dining room as if she expects her friend to be hiding behind a pillar or peering at them from between some palm fronds.

"Lanie generously offered to take a rain check on lunch and step aside for the greater good," Castle informs Kate, studying her face all the while for her reaction to this piece of news.

"The greater good?" smirks Kate.

"_Oh_…just so long as you call her later and tell her all the juicy details. I was supposed to remember to tell you that part," he says, comically slapping his own forehead. "She kind of insisted."

Kate laughs, her cheeks pinking up at her friend's predictably saucy demand for girl talk. "That sounds like Lanie alright."

"Actually, it was more like she threatened," admits Castle, with a grimace. "I just didn't want to sound—"

"Scared? Oh, believe me, Castle, you would _not_ be the first guy to be scared of Lanie Parish."

* * *

Things seem to be going well, so Castle steps around the table and pulls Kate's chair out for her, holding out his hand to indicate for her to sit. "Join me?" he asks hopefully, looking half-boyish and half-sheepish for a second. "Please?"

Kate gives in and sits, the large bouquet of flowers now trapped between the table and her body. "Technically, it's actually _you_ who are joining _me_, since I was the one who made the res—"

"Always have to have the last word, Detective," grins Castle, retaking his seat, while engaging in a good deal of head shaking.

"Depends," counters Kate, one eyebrow arched.

"On what exactly?"

"On why you're really here."

"Right."

Castle nods thoughtfully in response to her challenge. He steeples his fingers on top of the white linen tablecloth and stares down at his joined hands for a second or two, gathering his thoughts.

Kate lowers her voice and leans across the table to prompt him. "Castle, I _bared_ my soul to you the other night and then…_nothing_. No call, no text…just…_nothing_. Was that my punishment? Were you teaching me a lesson, making a point about what you went through when I left town for three months? Is that what this is all—"

"I prefer the more personal touch," he interrupts, coolly, clearly and calmly.

Kate sits back in her seat, chastened. She blinks, reaching for the water glass. "Is that so?"

"Mmm-hmm," he hums, reaching for her hand across the table.

He toys with her fingers briefly, slotting his own thicker digits in between her slender ones. Kate feels jolts of electricity shooting up her arm at this barest and most innocent of touches, and then he withdraws again to his own side of the table, leaving her a throbbing, disconcerted mess.

* * *

She takes another sip of water to moisten her parched throat, following it up with a few cleansing breaths, before she risks speaking again.

"Castle, are you flirting with me? I mean…just to be clear," she asks, her cheeks far too warm for it not to show on her face.

"Clear is good. Honest is good," states the writer, bluest of blue eyes roaming over her flushed face.

"So…_are you_?" she asks, fanning herself with the cocktail list.

"Am I…?" he repeats, taking a distracted sip of water to moisten his own parched mouth.

Kate watches the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows. His jaw and throat bear a dark shadowy layer of scruff, indicating that he hasn't shaved since she last saw him. She finds her eyes treacherously drawn back up to his lips when a bead of water lingers there. She flicks her tongue out to swipe an imaginary droplet from her own lips, mirroring the action Castle makes with his own mouth, and he sees it all.

She's flustered, thrown off kilter by what amounts to an ambush, and the minute she gets out of here, she is going to _kill_ Lanie. But first she goes on the attack, since everyone knows that's the best form of defence.

"_So…_should I even ask how you found out I was having lunch here today? Or will you just tell me that you know a guy?" jokes Kate, giving him a winning smile, feeling a high-like euphoria course through her when he instantly smiles back.

_Oh, he knows a guy alright._

"Actually, that's why I'm here in person saying…thank goodness I did _not_ decide to bring you flowers because those are…_wow!_" he remarks, going slightly off track when he notices that she's still cradling the unwieldy blooms in her lap.

Castle holds up his hand to flag down a passing waiter. "Could you find a bucket of water for my partner's sunflowers?" he asks the slightly bemused young man.

Once relieved of the giant, yellow flowers, Kate is free to settle down at the table, try to relax and take in more of her surroundings, as well as the man sitting opposite her. She feels excited and hopeful all of a sudden. This is everything she hoped would come of their painful exchange the other night: time alone together to see if they can get beyond the hurtful choices she made in the past, to make something more of their relationship than that of friends and partners.

* * *

"So…uh…you look nice," says Castle, by way of opener, before nervously clearing his throat.

Kate looks down at her simple white shirt and jeans combo and then back up at her partner. "If I'd known this was going to turn into a—"

She stops herself before the word 'date' comes slipping out and reconsiders.

"Thank you," she offers instead, graciously acknowledging his compliment, though she still considers it undeserved. "You don't look too shabby yourself. Blue suits you. But then you know that already or you wouldn't be—" Kate swallows, stops rambling mindlessly. "Actually, why don't we change the subject?"

Castle nods, keen to avoid any awkward pitfalls until he gets what he has to say out of the way. "Good idea. Why don't we get some menus? Order some food. Have you been here before?" he asks, looking around for a waiter.

Their stilted conversation is starting to sound suspiciously like blind-date small talk and it's making Kate nervous. What if they are no good at this? What if they only work on one level – that of partners who are attracted to one another but can't make the transition to the next level once all the barriers are cleared out of the way.

"Uh…yeah. Lanie likes the…the uh…"

She loses her train of thought when Castle reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a spectacle case. He snaps it open and puts on a pair of clear-framed glasses.

How did she not know this about him – that he wears glasses to read now. When did this happen? He looks sexy…well, _sexier_, she thinks, as she snatches up her water glass again and gulps a mouthful to cool herself down.

"Is it hot in here or is it just—" She fans herself with the small cocktail list again, startling when the full-size food menu suddenly appears over her right shoulder.

"_Hmm?_" murmurs Castle, reaching out to accept the large menu being offered to him by their server.

"Hmm?" repeats Kate, giving him a questioning look.

"You were saying…"

"I was?"

"Lanie likes the…fill in the blank."

"Oh, yes. Sorry!" Kate flushes. "She likes the Sake."

"Why am I not surprised," mumurs Castle, his eyes now focused on the menu, though in truth this is to prevent him staring at his beautiful partner and completely freaking her out. Anymore than he has so obviously freaked her out already.

* * *

They both fall silent for a while, lost in thought, mulling the decisions they'll shortly have to make regarding their choice of food. When Castle suggests that they share a couple of appetizers and decide on entrees later, Kate jumps at the chance to absolve herself of any further thought than is necessary, since all she really wants to focus on is why Castle is here and what's coming next.

The server finally departs with an order for some shrimp dumplings and a serving of the crispy calamari to share. Castle also orders a bottle of Riesling and a second bottle of water for the table, after Kate agrees to leave the wine choice up to him.

Castle studies her while he orders for them, suspicious of her easy compliance. But then he did spring this lunch on her and she is probably wondering why, so he decides to cut to the chase in the hopes that they can get the whole _'I lied to protect you too, please forgive me'_ mess out of the way and get on and enjoy their first date, if that's what this turns out to be.

Yeah, probably not going to be that easy, he acknowledges to himself, when he looks up from his napkin to find Kate opening staring at him.

"What?" he asks, instantly touching his fingers to his mouth. "Do I have something—?"

Kate chuckles softly and he relaxes a little. She looks so happy, if still a little flushed with anxiety. "I've never seen you wearing glasses before, that's all," she admits, with an attractive twinkle in her eye.

"Ah, these," replies Castle, taking his spectacles off and folding them away. "Sign of age, I guess."

"Whatever," shrugs Kate, reaching for her water. "They suit you. How long?"

"Thank you. And you mean how long have I had them?"

Kate nods, hiding her smile with her water glass.

"Six months," admits Castle, with a sheepish grin.

"_Six months!_" parrots Kate, almost choking on her water. "And this is the first time I get to see you wearing them? _Why?_"

Castle covers his eyes with his hands and then scrubs them down over his face. "I didn't want you to think I was getting old," he admits, with a wince, color warming his own cheeks an attractive shade of pink.

Kate lets out a peal of laughter that draws amused and admiring glances from the surrounding tables. "_Vanity?_ Castle, you were _too_ _vain_ to let me see you wearing glasses…even though you clearly need them?"

"What do you mean _'clearly need them'_?" he asks, indignantly.

"Oh, come on," teases Kate. "I see the way you lean over my shoulder when we're reading a report. Any closer and you'd be sitting in my lap."

"Ever cross your mind that maybe I just wanted an excuse to get close to you?" he asks, deadpan this time, casually sipping his own water.

Kate coughs the word _'bullshit'_ under her breath and then she slowly shakes her head at him, an amused smile tugging at her lips. "Flirt all you like, Casanova. I know short-sighted when I see it."

* * *

Their food will be here any minute and Castle knows that the window he has to tell her about Smith and his own set of lies is rapidly narrowing to the point of severe discomfort.

So he takes a deep breath and attempts to dive in. "So, Kate, there's something I've been meaning to tell you too."

The wine waiter appears right at that instant with their bottle of Riesling and an ice bucket, which he proceeds to noisily position beside their table.

Kate gives Castle a smile of encouragement when she catches him looking pained. But he decides to hold off on his confession until after the sommelier departs. He waves away the usual rigmarole of swilling the wine around his glass, sniffing and tasting it, telling the man just to go ahead and pour two glasses instead.

"I trust you," he offers the slightly miffed wine waiter, who he has just deprived of his moment of glory by forcing him to depart the table without impressing the beautiful brunette with his extensive knowledge of German wines.

"I thought he was never going to go," mutters Castle, lifting his wine glass to clink against Kate's when she offers up a smiling _'Cheers'_.

Kate frowns in amusement at his grumbling. "Are you okay?" she chuckles. "You seem a little tense."

"Yeah, fine," sighs Castle, taking another deep breath and carefully setting his glass down.

"So, you were saying? Something you had to tell me?" reminds Kate, sitting back in her seat to listen attentively.

"Yes. So, Kate, after you were sho—"

* * *

When Kate's cell phone begins to ring he is temped to grab it out of her hand and dunk it in his water glass. He barely manages to contain himself when she fishes it out of her purse and cradles it in her palm.

Kate checks the screen and then looks back up at Castle, a guilty expression on her face. "I am _so_ sorry. That's the Precinct. Do you mind?"

Castle throws his hands in the air. "No, please. Of course, you have to take it," he concedes, reaching for his wine glass.

He watches her rise elegantly from the table, unfolding her long legs and then stride off towards a more discreet area of the restaurant that leads down towards the bathrooms.

Once Kate is gone, he happens to glance to the side, catching the eye of the man seated at the table next to them.

"First date?" the man asks, giving him a sympathetic smile. "Me too," the stranger adds before Castle can even answer, his lunch partner having departed for the ladies' room a few minutes beforehand. "It's the small talk I'm no good at," the man complains, blotting his sweat-dampened forehead with his napkin.

Castle manages to give him a tight, wordless, grimace of a smile before he turns away to drown his own nerves in another mouthful of wine.

* * *

True to form, their appetizers arrive just as Kate is returning to the table.

"That was good timing," she beams, as she re-takes her seat, the beautiful smile she offers her partner doing all sorts of wonderful and terrible things to his insides.

Before she can reach for a morsel of food, the man at the table next to them reaches across the narrow gap and taps her arm. "We're on our first date too," he tells her with a wink, before standing when his date returns from the bathroom.

Kate pauses with her fork in midair, glancing first at Castle and then back up at the two happy strangers, who are now preparing to leave the restaurant.

"Is that so?" she grins, politely, while gritting her teeth. "Well, I hope yours goes better than ours," she adds, kicking Castle's foot beneath the table.

"_Ow!_ What was that for?" grumbles Castle, giving her a wounded look the second their neighbors depart for wherever.

"I leave you alone for two minutes and you're telling our business to all and sundry?" she laughs, stealing a piece of crispy calamari from the prongs of Castle's fork with her fingers and daintily popping it into her mouth.

"_He_ started talking to _me_," protests Castle. "And for the record, I did _not_ say one word. He just assumed."

"Why on earth would he do that?" pushes Kate, enjoying Castle's brief moment of misery, after she went through the ringer the night before.

"I don't know," he shrugs, taking a sip of water. "Maybe because I look so nervous," he offers, in a moment of guileless honesty, not to mention complete and utter madness.

Kate puts her fork down and narrows her eyes at him. "Now you mention it…why _do_ you look so nervous? Can't handle being on a date with your partner?"

Castle's eyes widen. "Oh, _now_ who's flirting, Detective Beckett?"

"Isn't that why we're here?" Kate throws back, boldly.

Castle coughs and then takes another long drag of wine.

"You get everything sorted out on the phone?"

"Changing the subject? _Smooth_, Rick," laughs Kate, her eyes dancing as she watches her partner squirm. "Oh, and the Precinct thing was nothing. They needed a cold case file I'd borrowed. It can wait until Monday," she shrugs, feeling a warm glow spreading inside at the thought of being back at work with Castle by her side, all the old barriers finally removed from between them.

Thoughts of _other things_ being...removed swiftly follows, and she finds herself reaching for the ice water once more to control her rapidly climbing body temperature.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, Castle is a worried man. They are getting further and further away from the point where he feels comfortable bringing up his own secrets. But he knows that he simply has to find a way to come clean to her before things go any further between them.

They finally settle down to focus on eating their food for a few minutes, glancing over at one another now and again in a rather sweet, slightly coy game of cat and mouse. Castle has lost sight of who is the cat in this scenario. In fact, he'd rather be the Road Runner right now, if his legs could carry him out of here fast enough, taking his terrible secret with him, to preserve that happy, flirtatious look on Kate's face for just a little while longer.

The waiter appears to top up their wine and clear away their empty plates, just as Castle is working up to another attempt to explain.

He gives up. It's just not happening. Not here.

"Kate, I'm sorry," he says, leaning in to gain a little more privacy. "This lunch was a mistake."

The smile fades from her mouth in a heartbeat and her expression becomes one of wounded confusion, followed closely by utter disappointment. "Castle, I know we're new at this and I'm probably a little rusty, but—"

Castle shakes his head and reaches out to take her hand. "That's not what I meant. Kate, I came here because I had something to tell you and—" He looks around them at the happy, bustling, noisy throng of people enjoying lunch. "This just isn't the right place. Do you understand?" he asks, tilting his head to one side, wishing he hadn't had to burst her bubble, but knowing that there is really no way around it.

"What are you saying? I…I don't—" She withdraws her hand from beneath his and gnaws on her lip for a second. "Castle, are you _seeing_ someone?" she whispers.

The air leaves his lungs in one great whoosh of relief. If she looks this distressed at the thought of him dating someone else, then maybe he stands a chance once he explains himself. "God, no. No, of course not. Why would you even _think_ that?" he asks, squeezing her hand.

Kate looks marginally more relieved. "Then what can you possibly have to tell me that has you looking so…so _terrified_?"

"Would you mind if we got the check and went somewhere quieter?" he asks, scanning the dining room for their waiter.

"Not until you tell me what's going on?"

"Kate, please…not here," he begs.

When he first imagined this lunch, he thought a public place might work, might force them to be civil, to keep a lid on their emotions, to actually talk things through. He can't believe how wrong he was. He should have gone to her apartment or invited her over to the loft, explained there, where they could thrash things out in private, where he might have had a change to hold her, to reassure her that everything that he did was done out of love for her and with a desire to protect.

But he can tell from the determined look on her face right now that he has come to this realization too late.

* * *

"Castle? _Rick?_" she asks again, pleading with her eyes this time.

Castle runs a hand down over his face and then he looks straight at her, meeting her strained gaze. "You weren't the only one who lied and kept secrets," he admits, watching with a terrible sinking feeling as the light goes out of her eyes.

"Go on," she says, stiffly, her face hardening with suspicion; a hazard of her job, where most of her days are spent figuring out who is the biggest liar of them all.

"Kate, honestly, it would be better if—"

"Castle, I swear to God…" she cuts in angrily, biting her lip to rein herself back in. "Look, just tell me what you've been hiding," she adds, lowering her voice to a more reasonable level.

"And you'll give me a fair hearing?"

"Talk first, bargain later," she fires back, like the pro interrogator he has long admired in the box.

"No. Not until you tell me that you'll hear me out…like I listened to you," he insists.

She slumps back in her seat and crosses her arms protectively over her chest. "I'm not liking where this is going."

"You don't have to like it. Just give me a fair chance to explain. That's all I'm asking."

Kate shrugs, her decision evidently reached. It cuts Castle to the quick to see the pain, suspicion, fear, and, finally, tears in her eyes.

"I knew this was too good to be true," she says, mostly to herself. "Go on then. Let's hear it," she whispers hoarsely, lifting her wine glass and taking a healthy sip to calm her.

She has to concentrate to prevent her hand from shaking when she gingerly places the glass back down on the table. She can now see how serious this is going to be by the look of fear and dejection passing across Castle's eyes.

* * *

"After you were shot," he says quietly, leaning in so that only Kate can hear, "after you left town, the boys and I carried on digging, as you know, trying to find out who was behind the attempt on your life, trying to join the dots between Montgomery's death, your mom's murder and your shooting. One night I received a phone call."

Kate shakes her head, as if trying to clear her mind. "A call?" she frowns. "A call from whom? About what?"

Castle doesn't answer her questions directly. "I thought I'd found the money trail leading to the guy who was paid to kill your mother. But then we found out that the bank the guys had been using to handle the ransom money had closed down, and, well, you already know about the warehouse fire that destroyed the bank records. So, we hit a dead end, and then Gates kicked me out of the Precinct."

"Castle, _the call_? Just tell me about the call," she demands, impatiently.

"Before Montgomery went into that hangar, he sent a package to someone, someone…he trusted. It contained information damaging to the person behind all this. Montgomery was trying to protect you. But the package didn't arrive until after you'd been shot. Montgomery's friend…struck a deal with them. If they left you alone, the package and the information inside would never see the light of day. But they made one condition—you had to back off. And that's the reason you're alive, Kate, because you stopped."

Kate's eyes widen and she uncrossed her arms, leaning towards him, her elbows resting on the table. "How do you know this?" she asks, with an unsettling feeling that she already knows the answer.

"In order for the deal to work, someone had to make sure you weren't pursuing it."

She sits back again, needing to put distance between herself and her increasingly guilty looking partner. "Are you a part of this?" she whispers, weakly, feeling sick to her stomach.

"I was just trying to keep you safe," Castle promises, an air of desperation about his voice; he can see already that he's in danger of losing her.

Beckett turns and looks away from him, away from their table. She pauses, blinking, swallowing, taking a moment, until she's able to turn and face him again.

"By _lying_ to me about the most important thing in my life?" she demands, their present surroundings forcing her to control her voice and her anger.

"That lie was the only thing that was protecting you," insists Castle, trying to modulate his own voice so that they avoid attracting the attention of the diners nearby.

"Castle, I didn't need protection. I needed a _lead_, and you sat on it for almost a year. Now, who is this person? How do I find him?" she asks, suddenly snapping back to her businesslike self.

"He's a—a voice on the phone. He's a shadow in a parking garage," he explains, knowing that there is no way her can keep the little he knows from her any longer.

Kate grips the edges of the table and lists towards him once more, her elbows locked at her sides, holding her up. "You _met_ with him? How do you know that he's not behind my mom's murder? How do you know that he's not involved? And how the _hell _could you do this?" she hisses, the legs of her chair scraping loudly against the travertine floor when she stands abruptly.

Castle looks stricken when he raises his eyes to her. "Because I love you. But you already know that," he says, sounding utterly defeated. "That's why we're here."

Kate shakes her head, and a single tear courses down her cheek, before she grabs her purse, turns and wordlessly leaves the restaurant.

* * *

People stare at both of them in turn, as is their way. They stare at the tall, striking stranger with tears in her eyes, her cheek bitten inside, her hands clenched into fists to stop her from losing control in this public setting. And when she's gone, they turn, as if it were a tennis match, to stare at what they assume is the other half of this lover's tiff – the culprit, most likely.

Castle is too distraught to care about prying eyes. He knows from bitter restaurant experience past that the conversation in the room will reignite in a moment, eyes will return to glasses and plates, and he will be but a minor footnote in an otherwise entertaining meal.

This could not have gone any more terribly if he had tried. She heard him out, as he asked, but she did not ask the clarifying questions he tried to ask of her. She did not try for one second to see things from his point of view, and she did not try to understand. She let her hurt and her obsessive ownership of her mother's case – the way she guards it like a tigress protecting her young – color her view of what he genuinely believed he had to do to keep her safe.

But her mother's case is no longer just hers anymore. Montgomery paid with his life to keep her safe, Ryan and Esposito have put themselves in harms way too by investigating when they could, Kate almost paid the ultimate price for justice, and so Castle sees his role in this endeavor as equal to her own, for they are partners, and no way is he letting her pursue this alone.

He hastily pulls his wallet from his pants pocket and mentally calculates the bill, adding a substantial gratuity for good measure. He folds the notes and is in the process of sliding them beneath his water glass when the waiter appears at the table.

"Will the lady be returning? Can I get you anything else?" he asks, as Castle hands him the money, thanks him, and then blindly brushes past in pursuit of his partner.

The last thing he hears, as he forges through the restaurant's front doors, is a cry of, "Sir, you forgot your sunflowers."

_TBC..._

* * *

_Note: I used some of the original script from Castle and Kate's confrontation scene at her apartment in 'Always' to tie this AU version back to canon, just in case you noticed something familiar about the dialogue in the second last section near the very end of this chapter. _

_I should also add that I decided to give Castle a pair of the same glasses that Nathan Fillion wears. ;)_


	10. Chapter 10 - And I'll Keep Paying

_A/N: Thanks for hanging in there with me. :)_

* * *

**Chapter 10: And I'll Keep Paying**

_Previously…_

_"Castle, I didn't need protection. I needed a lead, and you sat on it for almost a year. Now, who is this person? How do I find him?" she asks, suddenly snapping back to her businesslike self._

_"He's a—a voice on the phone. He's a shadow in a parking garage," he explains, knowing that there is no way her can keep the little he knows from her any longer._

_Kate grips the edges of the table and lists towards him once more, her elbows locked at her sides, holding her up. "You met with him? How do you know that he's not behind my mom's murder? How do you know that he's not involved? And how the hell could you do this?" she hisses, the legs of her chair scraping loudly against the travertine floor when she stands abruptly._

_Castle looks stricken when he raises his eyes to her. "Because I love you. But you already know that," he says, sounding utterly defeated. "That's why we're here."_

_Kate shakes her head, and a single tear courses down her cheek, before she grabs her purse, turns and wordlessly leaves the restaurant._

_He hastily pulls his wallet from his pants pocket and mentally calculates the bill, adding a substantial gratuity for good measure. He folds the notes and is in the process of sliding them beneath his water glass when the waiter appears at the table._

"_Will the lady be returning? Can I get you anything else?" he asks, as Castle hands him the money, thanks him, and then blindly brushes past in pursuit of his partner._

_The last thing he hears, as he forges through the restaurant's front doors, is a cry of, "Sir, you forgot your sunflowers."_

* * *

Castle explodes out into West 16th Street like a rifling bullet from the barrel of a gun, spinning right and then left as he scans the street, leaving the door to slam noisily behind him. The side street is quiet enough and Kate is tall enough that he can see from the briefest of glances that she isn't headed down that way. Which leaves the much busier option of Union Square.

Diners sitting in the restaurant's outside terrace eye him curiously for a few seconds, before returning to their meals. If any of them saw Kate leave and guess who he's looking for, no one offers up any help or points him in the right direction. He's on his own.

It's almost three o'clock in the afternoon and the Greenmarket runs until six, so the Square is still teeming with tourists and New Yorkers alike, all out Saturday shopping, their pace more leisurely than on a weekday, the throng between here and there, all across Union Square moving as slowly and as thickly as molasses. He scans the square itself and all the streets he can see from his current vantage point, looking for a tall brunette in jeans and a white shirt, but he draws a complete and utter blank.

Castle takes a moment, tries to calm his raging desperation to find her so that he can think. He attempts to quiet his mind and think rationally. But every heartbeat is a second, every second a stride, every stride taking her further away from him and _ahhhhhh!_ He can't think straight.

She was wearing sandals, he suddenly remembers: fancy, flat, gold sandals. He saw them when she went to take the call from the Precinct, marveled at the sexy black nail varnish on her perfectly manicured toes. In heels the woman can outrun him, in flats he has no chance of catching her unless he thinks about this smartly and…

He fishes for his cell phone as he turns left onto the western edge of Union Square for want of a better plan.

* * *

"Come on. Come on. Pick up, Kate. Pick up," he mutters to himself, as he waits for the call to connect, the fingers of his free hand raking fresh tramlines through his hair.

"You have reached the cell phone of Detective Kate Beckett. I'm sorry I can't—"

"Ahhhh! God _dammit!_" he curses, drawing a wary look from a woman with a stroller. He raises his hand in apology and turns away.

"Come on, Rick, think this through. Where would she go? She's upset, she—"

He returns to his cell phone again, pacing up and down in front of the Puma sports store next door to the restaurant while he flicks through his contacts list.

"_Lanie?_ Lanie, it's Castle. Is Kate with you? I mean, has she called you at least?" he barks, sounding like a lunatic.

"_Woah_, slow down there, writer boy," drawls the M.E. "I thought Kate was with _you?_"

Castle scrubs his free hand over his face before answering. "She was, but—"

"Oh, now what did you do? Lunch was at one, Castle. What did you say to her to send her running this fast?"

"I didn't—" He sighs in frustration. "Well, I did. I told her…_everything_. So _stupid!_" he berates himself, not making an ounce of sense to Lanie.

"Okay, now, you need to slow down, start making some sense and tell Lanie what happened," soothes the laidback M.E.

"I— Look, I know this sounds really bad, since I'm basically asking for your help for the second time in one day, but I can't exactly tell you what we were talking about. Not in detail. It concerns her mom's case. That's all I can say, but—"

"Are you trying to tell me you finally plucked up the damn courage to take that girl out on a date, and you brought up her _mother's murder_?" asks Lanie, her incredulity quite plain to hear.

Castle winces. "When you say it like that—"

"You can say it any which way you please, ain't never gonna make _that_ sound any better. Castle, you have to find her and you have to fix this mess once and for all. You feel me?"

"I feel—yeah, I hear you," corrects Castle, feeling well and truly chastised.

"Now, I know you love her and I'm pretty sure she loves you, though God only knows why," mutters an exasperated Lanie. "_Use_ that. Whatever you said to upset her, you need to tell the truth and make her listen. It's time you two stop talking in riddles and start being honest with each other, before it's too late."

"Lanie, I'm trying, believe me. I want nothing more."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now go find our girl and call me when this is over."

* * *

Something snaps into place after Lanie abruptly ends their call. Castle manages to focus long enough to formulate a plan. If Kate won't answer her cell phone, the next logical thing to do is to go over to her apartment and try to find her there. So he cuts diagonally across the Square, heading for East 14th Street and Broadway, where he can hail a cab headed downtown. He skips quickly down the steps of the open paved area, which is strewn with a mishmash of teenage skateboarders, homeless people and foot-weary tourists.

Finding a cab is no problem, and he sinks inside the grey interior with a sense of purpose-fueled relief, giving the driver Kate's address so forcefully that he's almost yelling by the time he finishes, since he doesn't have time to repeat himself today.

The cab lurches out into busy afternoon traffic and Castle takes the opportunity to call Kate again during the journey, determined to leave her a message this time.

His mind goes blank the second her voicemail kicks in and his hopes of actually speaking to her are dashed.

He scrambles to find the right words, stuttering and stammering over a ridiculously wordy message that he thankfully manages to delete, before taking a deep breath and trying again.

"Kate, hi. It's me." He presses his cell phone closer to his mouth and cups his hand over the microphone to eradicate any outside noise, trying to make his message come over in as sincere and intimate in tone as he can. "Look, we need to talk…clearly. I know I ambushed you by hijacking your girls' lunch and then I kind of sprung the whole Smith thing on you. It was a disaster and I take full responsibility. But, Kate, I need to see you. We have to sort this out once and for all. Call me…_please?_" he pleads, before he pauses for breath to make sure he's covered all bases and then he hangs up.

He alights on the sidewalk outside of her apartment building and takes a second to look up. It's the middle of the afternoon, so there will be no sign whether she is home or not; no lights, no candles, no curtains or blinds closed. He shakes his head at his own pointless behavior and heads for the front door.

* * *

He lets himself inside the building and climbs the stairs to Kate's floor, out of breath by the time he gets up there. It's a warm afternoon and he's beginning to perspire beneath the lightweight cashmere v-neck sweater he's wearing, so he peels his jacket off and slings it over his shoulder as we walks the final few yards to her door.

"Please be inside," he chants quietly to himself, as he raises his knuckles to knock, holding his breath as he waits for an answer.

If Kate had been home and she had opened the door without checking, Castle would have fallen in on top of her, because his ear is pressed so hard to the wood, listening for any sign or indication of her presence: any hint of footsteps, movement, mice…anything he might be able to hear that would tell him if she in inside or not.

But the silence in the quiet hallway remains unbroken; it reigns like a totalitarian dictator. He dials her cell phone again just to check, just to see if he can hear it ringing from inside the apartment in case she's in there hiding, hoping he'll just give up and walk away.

Nothing.

So he considers his options – does he slump to the floor outside her door and wait for her to come home? She has to come home sometime. But then the thought of not moving, of just sitting there doing nothing to make things right between them is suffocating to the point of panic. So he scribbles her a note, slides it under her door and he leaves. Off in search of inspiration that - without his muse - he seems incapable of finding.

* * *

Meanwhile, back up town, Kate is sitting outside a sunny corner café just two blocks north of Union Square waiting for her dad.

She stands when she sees him approaching, giving him a wave, and then as he gets closer, she greets him with a tight squeeze of a hug.

Jim Beckett hugs his daughter back and then pulls back to give her a kiss on the cheek, before they release one another and sit down.

"Thanks for meeting me at such short notice. I hope I didn't interrupt anything," says Kate, gnawing on her lip.

Her decision to call her dad was rash, spur of the moment. The bombshell Castle dropped about the investigation into her mother's death and a possible new lead, had rattled her, and so it was to her dad that she turned, as her thoughts always did whenever the subject arose.

"Nonsense," assures her father, with a light pat of her hand. "Any excuse to avoid doing laundry and I'm in, you know that."

"You want coffee?" asks Kate, restlessly looking around for service.

"In a minute. First, how about you tell me what's going on? Or should I just take a wild guess and say it might have something to do with a certain mystery novelist?"

Kate covers her face with her hands for a second. "Dad, why does everything have to be so complicated?" she groans, dropping her hands back into her lap to look at him.

"What did Rick do now?" asks her father, with a sympathetic smile.

Kate looks around for a server, raising her hand to get her attention when she spots the young girl of about seventeen who's busy bussing the café's outdoor tables. She's dressed in a worn pair of denim coveralls and a black and white stripy tee. The hem of her pants is rolled up to mid-calf and her pale, narrow feet are slopping around inside a half-laced pair of red Converse All Stars. She looks like she doesn't have a care in the world.

Kate orders coffee for both of them, and Jim Beckett take this opportunity to study his daughter quietly while she talks to the young waitress, prepared to give her time to explain her uncharacteristic need to see him when she's ready. She sounded upset when she called, or as upset as Kate ever gets, and so he's relieved to see her looking calmer, more like her usual self, now that he's here in person.

* * *

The sun is filtering between the buildings opposite, landing perfectly on their little outdoor spot, and it warms their faces where they sit.

"Castle told me you came to see him…before I was shot," Kate eventually offers quietly, looking up from the packet of sugar she's been playing with to glance at her father to see his reaction.

"I was concerned. I knew that what you were doing – pursuing your mother's case – was dangerous…" he nods, drifting back to that time inside his own head; how afraid he felt for her and how fearful he was of losing the only close family he had left.

"You couldn't have come to me?"

Jim Beckett shakes his head and then offers his daughter the barest of smiles. "No, Katie. We both know you wouldn't have listened if I'd asked you to let it go."

"So you went to a complete _stranger_?" asks Kate, taking this opportunity to tackle him on this event once and for all.

"He wasn't a stranger to you. The way you talked about him, I felt like I knew him already... He sounded more like family. I remember you told me once, early on, that you trusted him to have your back on the job even though he wasn't trained. I don't know a lot of cops the way you do, but the bond that comes from that kind of partnership, that trust, seems to me to be a pretty strong one. Rick was your partner, no matter what else might be going on between you two and so—"

"_Nothing_ was going on!" insists Kate, her voice getting a little heated. "Nothing _is _going on," she adds more gently, sinking back in her chair, though this last statement speaks more of regret than anything else.

"Are you sure about that? Because I have the distinct feeling you'd like there to be?" Jim gently suggests.

"Dad, I know we already talked about this. But that was before. He _lied_ to me," she confesses, her heart still weighed down by the fresh disappointment of it all.

"Did he lie to hurt you?"

"_No_," replies Kate, the honesty of a daughter confiding in a father deadening her tone.

"Did he lie to deceive you in some way to gain some personal advantage for himself?" asks Jim Beckett, the voice of reason.

"He lied to protect me," admits Kate with a sigh, her wily father leading her through the list of possible arguments with deft skill gained over years of practicing law.

"And why would he do that?"

The young waitress arrives with their coffee and gently, quietly, places them down on the worn wooden table. Kate smiles up at the girl and thanks her, using the distraction to win herself some thinking time.

* * *

"Katie?" prompts her dad, when she begins stirring her coffee, staring into its endless black depths.

"Because he cares about me," she admits quietly, in an act of contrition.

Her dad smiles at last, a smile of victory.

"Don't look so smug," Kate chides, giving him a little glare.

"And is it possible this lie your partner told is no worse than the lies you told him last summer?"

"He made a _deal_, dad," Kate finally reveals.

"A deal for what?" asks her father, his smile quickly replaced by a worried frown.

"To keep me alive."

"And you're mad at him for _that_?" frowns Jim Beckett, leaning in closer, feeling the distinct need to get to the bottom of this story, which no longer sounds like a simple lover's tiff.

"_I'm_ the cop," rages Kate, clanking her teaspoon noisily against the side of her cup. "_I'm_ the one with the gun…the training. He could have gotten himself killed. And this is _my_ mother's case," she adds, almost as if she has forgotten who she is talking to.

"_Oh_," nods her dad. Falling silent, he sinks back in his seat again and turns his attention to his own cup of coffee.

Kate looks up to see the worry etched into her father's features, and she knows that what she has to tell him will only worry him more, but she is tired of keeping secrets.

* * *

"Before Captain Montgomery died it seems he sent a file of information to a friend for safekeeping. The file contains information that is damaging to the people behind mom's murder. It was intended as some kind of insurance policy that was supposed to keep me safe. Only it arrived too late. _After_ I was shot. According to Castle, the information would remain out of the public domain only so long as I stopped investigating her murder," explains Kate. "At least that's all I managed to learn today."

"And Rick was the one charged with keeping you from investigating?" surmises her father.

Kate nods.

"Poor guy," remarks her dad, shaking his head.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asks Kate, setting her cup down to focus her attention on her father.

"Looks like I'm not the only one trusting him with your safety…with your life. That's quite a responsibility, Katie. You are as strong-willed as your mother. You never listened to me when you got an idea in your head…neither of you. Seems to me Rick Castle has been handed quite the challenge."

"Yeah, well, he was so good at it, I'd still be in the dark right now if he hadn't decided to come clean."

"Would _you_ have come clean to _him_ about last summer had he not caught you in a lie?" asks her dad, perceptively.

Kate shifts position on her chair, discomforted by her father's astute, yet empathetic, mind.

"I thought there was another way round it. A less damaging one. I thought it wouldn't matter once—"

She breaks off and shakes her head at her own stupidity.

"Once what?" prompts her dad.

"Once I told him how I felt about him."

"I see. And were you in danger of doing that anytime soon?"

Kate shrugs. "We were becoming so close. I wanted to."

"So what was stopping you?"

"Fear, I guess."

"That doesn't sound like you. What were you afraid of?" Jim probes, gently.

"Of ruining what we already had. I rely on him so much…just to be there."

"At work?"

Kate shakes her head. "At first. But it's more than that now. You remember with mom you'd come home from work and if you'd had a good day or a bad day, didn't matter. The first person you'd want to talk to about it was her?"

Jim Beckett nods sadly. "I remember. That's one of the things I miss most. Just shooting the breeze. Johanna had a way of putting everything into perspective. Good or bad."

"I'm so sorry, dad," says Kate, hating that she's making her father sad, dredging up old memories and hurts again.

"Don't be sorry. Everyone deserves to know that kind of love and companionship at least once in their life. If you think you might have found that in Rick, don't let it go for the sake of pride or your need for independence, and certainly don't throw it away because he hid this from you to keep you safe. He deserves better than that. And you deserve any man who cares enough about you to carry that burden for all these months."

* * *

Kate looks down at her lap and she runs her nail along the inseam of her jeans, thinking over what her dad has just said.

"Your mother's murder took so much from both of us, Katie. Don't let it take away this chance of happiness. Johanna's fight does not belong to Richard Castle, he owns no part of it. And yet he has been willing to step up every time _you_ or someone else asked, to do whatever he could to help. That's pretty selfless behavior in my book."

"So, you're saying I should just forgive him, overlook the fact that he kept valuable information hidden that could have helped me bring my mom's murderers to justice once and for all?"

Jim Beckett shakes his head. "Katie, you can't know that for sure. But if you decide you need to pursue this now, at least you're still alive to be able to make that happen, all thanks to Rick."

Kate slumps in her chair, her long legs stretched out beneath the table in front of her. The sun sparks off the crystals on the front of her sandals, dazzling her for a second and she shields her eyes and looks away, down the street in the direction from which she came. She wonders where Castle is now, if he's out looking for her, if he called.

She wonders if she was entitled to feel the anger she believed was so justified back at the restaurant, or if her reaction was too knee-jerk, her blame misplaced. She's been carrying the burden of her mother's case for so long by herself that she finds it hard to share, to hand any of the responsibility or control off to anyone else. But if she were to trust anyone with it, it would be Castle. She can at least admit that now.

* * *

"You really like him," she comments quietly, turning a growing smile on her father.

"I think he's a good man," agrees her dad. "And he's a father himself. He understands how that works. Children are a gift, Katie. They are both ultimate joy and an endless source of worry. You never stop caring no matter how old your child gets. One day I hope you get a chance to experience that for yourself," says Jim, squeezing Kate's hand.

"Hmm. One step at a time," grins Kate, bashfully looking away from her father's knowing gaze.

"Anyway, what matters more is how much _you_ like him?" points out her dad, giving her arm a playful shove. "Do you like him enough to work through this rough patch and get out the other side without losing sight of what's really important?"

Kate changes the subject and they finish their coffee while catching up on family news, talking about Kate's latest case and her dad's upcoming hunting trip.

"Got any plans for later?" she asks, her face tilted up to enjoy the last of the sun's rays before it drops below the buildings opposite.

"Actually, I think I'll go to a meeting," says Jim, checking his watch. "There's one at St. Brendan's at six o'clock and Frank should be there," he tells her, referring to his sponsor. "Then I'm joining Peggy and Sal for steaks at Maloney's. You're welcome to join us, if you can stand to listen to Peggy regale the whole restaurant with intimate details of her latest doctor visit," offers her father, with a chuckle.

Kate pats his arm, the low-level, but ever-present, threat from his alcoholism stabbing at something deep inside of her. "Thanks for the offer. But I think there's someone I should see first."

"No time like the present," says her dad, giving her a wink.

They part with a hug and a promise to meet for brunch next weekend, since they've managed to get all caught up on their news today. Kate watches her father walk off up the street en route to meet his sponsor, relentlessly fighting his demons. If he can do that with no complaint and such quiet courage all these years later, then she can tackle her own demons too, and maybe show Castle a little more faith and a lot more gratitude that she has thus far, she hopes.

* * *

Castle is fresh out of ideas and Kate still hasn't returned his call. She hasn't checked in with Lanie either, so he gives up his search of her usual haunts and heads home to regroup.

He slides his key into the lock with all the lassitude of a weary man, pushing the door open without thinking, he mind off somewhere else, just relieved to finally be home. He plans to take a shower, maybe lie down for a while, and he's suddenly hungry, since he ate little during their disastrous lunch, which was over several hours ago.

He heads straight for the refrigerator to get a bottle of water, managing to stick his head inside the cool interior before he hears his mother clear her throat and stand, accompanied by the familiar backing track of jingling bracelets.

He takes his time reaching for the water and then he straighten up, turning to face the stream of questions he knows will inevitably follow.

"Darling, we have company. Look who's here," says his mother, brightly, wearing the stiff, sprayed-on smile of a 1950's hostess.

His heart somersaults at the sight of Kate - dressed just as he last saw her - rising slowly from the sofa to stand next to his mother, a glass of white wine in her hand.

She offers him what he would probably describe as a tentative smile – slightly hesitant, unsure of the reception she's about to get, no doubt.

"I called you three times," says Castle, completely ignoring his mother's presence. "You couldn't call me back?"

Kate drops her head to look down at her feet and her shoulders slump a little. "Castle, I'm sorry—"

Martha squeezes Kate's arm and then she turns to address her son. "Richard, I'm going out for the night. Alexis is staying with a friend. I'll leave you two alone to talk," she adds quietly, giving Kate a parting smile of encouragement.

_TBC..._


	11. Chapter 11 -Turned My Whole World Around

_A/N: So, angst might not be what everyone feels like right now, after that dramatic season finale. But maybe we can just look on this story as something familiar to grab onto instead._

_I've used another little piece of script from 'Always', since I wanted to put it through the wringer and see what color it came out this time. ;)_

_Hope you enjoy..._

* * *

**Chapter 11: Turned My Whole World Around**

_Previously…_

_"Darling, we have company. Look who's here," says his mother, brightly, wearing the stiff, sprayed-on smile of a 1950's hostess._

_His heart somersaults at the sight of Kate - dressed just as he last saw her - rising slowly from the sofa to stand next to his mother, a glass of white wine in her hand._

_She offers him what he would probably describe as a tentative smile – slightly hesitant, unsure of the reception she's about to get, no doubt._

_"I called you. Three times," says Castle, completely ignoring his mother's presence. "You couldn't call me back?"_

_Kate drops her head to look down at her feet and her shoulders slump a little. "Castle, I'm sorry—"_

_Martha squeezes Kate's arm and then she turns to address her son. "Richard, I'm going out for the night. Alexis is staying with a friend. I'll leave you two alone to talk," she adds quietly, giving Kate a parting smile of encouragement._

* * *

"Subtle, mother," mutters Castle, turning away from his mom with a shake of his head. "_Real_ subtle."

"I...I'm sure she means well," Kate says quietly, as they both watch Martha waltz out the front door in a blaze of rainbow color.

"I'd ask if you want something to drink, but…" Castle points to Kate's wineglass with the neck of his water bottle. "My mother is nothing if not the perfect hostess."

Kate stands awkwardly between the coffee table and the sofa forcing herself to feel Castle's anger for the second time in so many days, allowing him to express his feelings without shutting the moment down or walking away from him again. They are slowly learning to be in the same room as their feelings, no matter how raw or uncomfortable it makes them. The process is slow – glacially so – but it comes with small rewards; like the chance to push themselves a little closer together if they dare be brave enough. They care, _a lot_, that's for damn sure, or neither of them would endure this; keep coming back for more, keep raining down blows, fighting them off, delivering them, accepting them, trading, ducking, bruising, learning, growing…ever closer.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you back," Kate repeats, raising her head from staring at the floor to look at him. "And I shouldn't have run out on you either. That was…"

"Typical?" suggests Castle, with arrow like acerbity that cuts straight to the heart of the matter.

He takes off his jacket and throws it over the back of one of the dining room chairs, leaving him in just the baby blue cashmere sweater he wore to lunch; an ultra fine knit that shows off his muscular physique to great effect, with a vee that dips down below his throat to expose the smooth, tan skin beneath his clavicle.

Kate swallows and stares. He kept his jacket on the entire time they were at the Blue Water Grill, so she never got to see him like this. The sweater is distracting to say the least.

"I…I was actually going to say hurtful. I wasn't thinking straight. You caught me off guard…with this Smith and everything. But that's still no excuse."

Her apology is helping, though she doesn't believe that it is. Castle can see a change in her attitude and it calms him a little.

* * *

"Is there any of that wine left or did my mother drink it all?" he asks, nodding towards Kate's glass.

Kate looks up in surprise at his question, which veers dangerously close to civil, even amusing.

"I—" She shakes her head and gestures vaguely in the direction of the kitchen, shrugging with one shoulder. "I think she opened the bottle for me. I only got here five minutes ahead of you. I don't think Martha took a drop."

"Wonders never cease," mutters Castle, setting his bottle of water down on the coffee table beside Kate's glass of wine. "You might want this. I'll get another and join you in a glass of wine, if you're staying?" he says, raising his eyebrows to give her a pointed, questioning look.

"I got your message, Castle. So…I'm here. You were right. We need to talk. There's a lot of…" Kate pauses and Castle waits for her to carry on. "I called my dad after I left. That's where I went," she admits, looking him in the eye.

"Your _dad's_ place? I didn't even think to look there," admits Castle, without stopping to consider how his comment basically reveals that he went searching the city for her.

"No, he…we met at a coffee shop on Broadway. You went _looking_ for me?" asks Kate, slowly sitting back down.

Castle stops en route to the kitchen and turns back. "Where on Broadway?"

"Corner of East 20th. Why?"

She was just four blocks away from where they started out. How can he have missed her, he wonders, shaking his head and heading back to the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of wine and get the bottle of water he now desperately needs. He doesn't know whether to be pleased or worried that she felt the need to run to her father. He consoles himself with the thought that Jim Beckett seemed to be in his corner over her decision to flee the city last summer and cut him out of her life. With any luck, the man is still on his side, if he knows what's good for his daughter.

* * *

When Castle returns from the kitchen, Kate is seated on the sofa with her knees and feet draw neatly together, her hands clasped on top. She looks expectant and anything but comfortable, as if she's waiting to be called in to a job interview perhaps.

"At ease, Beckett," Castle jokes, dryly. He purposefully takes the armchair at right angles to the couch to give them both a little breathing space and give himself a chance to observe her without being overly affected by her presence in his home, which has always had a powerful impact on him – making him long for things he was pretty sure he'd never have.

He spent the afternoon out looking for her, walking from place to place – everywhere he could think held any significance for her – and now that she's here, instead of feeling grateful, he just feels exhausted and cross; both at Kate and with himself. The optimism he felt when he wrangled a lunch date out from under Lanie has dimmed somewhat. He's starting to feel defeated.

Castle lifts his wineglass to his lips and takes a sip. "I'd say cheers, but…"

"No, it's fine," murmurs Kate, shaking her head dismissively and reaching for her own glass.

There is nothing to celebrate at this point; there are no victories here, just another personal battle to be slugged out between them.

They fall silent again, neither able to intuit what the other is thinking, just glad to be in the same space for as long as that lasts this time round.

Castle fingers a USB flash drive he has nestled in the palm of his hand inside his pants pocket. Squeeze and release. Squeeze and release. He finally takes it out and places it on the coffee table. With a push of his fingers he sends it spinning towards her.

"What is _that_?" asks Kate, eyeing the small purple figure wobbling on the polished glass surface in front of her.

"You wanted information. A lead. I assume that's mostly why you're here. So there it is."

They both stare down at the item lying on the tabletop. It looks ridiculous - a little purple ninja figure with a mask over its face and a sword strapped to its back - the only empty USB stick he had available when he went to meet her today. It lies there on the table between them begging for a smile that neither of them is capable of raising right now.

"But if you run at this…" Castle continues, before Kate can reach for the flash drive, "…I don't know how much longer Smith can protect you, Kate. And I can't start something here, with us, if I'm just going lose you. I can't do it," he says, definitively, his jaw set hard.

"_Can't _or _won't_?" she asks calmly, her question arising out of genuine curiosity and not a place of combat, though Castle clearly doesn't hear it that way.

"Can't _and_ won't…it's immaterial. Semantics," he shrugs, pushing the memory stick further towards her.

"So…what are you saying?" asks Kate, her fingers itching to reach for the flash drive just so that she can tell herself she has it in her possession. No need to use it, no need to even look at it. Just having access to the most up-to-date information on her mom's case is enough. At least she hopes it will be enough.

"It would destroy me. If something were to happen…I'd feel responsible."

Kate nods. She knows how that feels. She confronted the same fear over and over again after she was shot and was forced to relive all the 'what if' scenarios her mind kept inventing for that day at the cemetery. She lost count of the number of dreams she endured where Castle was the one lying bleeding out on the grass, his head cradled in her lap, his hair warm and soft against her fingers, his blue eyes growing unfocussed and cloudy as she fought to keep him with her.

* * *

Kate suddenly kicks off her sandals without thinking and lifts her feet up onto the sofa, curling up and hugging her knees as she would if she were at home. She looks so much younger like this, in her jeans and white shirt, her hair falling around her shoulders, a slight glow to her skin from the sun she got sitting outside with her dad this afternoon.

Castle watches her, trying to figure out what she's thinking. He knows this is a risk. He's practically forcing her to choose between him and her mother's case, and before today, he would have said that was a fool's errand – that her mother's case would win out every time. Now he's not so sure.

"What's on here?" Kate asks at length, staring warily down at the little ninja warrior as if it might bite.

"Everything. Every file, every lead, right back to the beginning. I can show you if you like. Might help you decide," he adds, with a little bite of hurt.

Kate's gaze flies up, locks with his. "You think this is a _choice?_ _Her_ or _you_?" she frowns, her eyes glittering dark as coal.

Castle shakes his head. "No. I would never…I couldn't ask you to do that," he insists, though in effect he already has.

"I don't think you understand," replies Kate, her eyes softening, though this change is something Castle misses, since he's so caught up in his own misconceptions over this difficult, slightly combative conversation they're having. "This is important to me, yes. Finding my mom's killers and bringing them to justice, it became my—"

"Your life's work. I know," nods Castle, dismissively, watching her reach down to lift the little ninja figure off the table and cradle it in the palm of her hand, turning it over with a childlike fascination he would never have expected of her.

He's heard it all before, watched her drop down that rabbit hole time without number, so he naturally assumes that's what's coming next.

"But _you_ are important to me too," she tells him, looking straight into his eyes.

"Glad to hear it," the writer replies, his tone clipped, his demeanor still deflated and dismissive. He really isn't hearing her.

He's not listening properly, not reading her body language or taking her words to heart, because he still assumes he knows what's coming – she wants a chance to have it all, as usual. She probably thinks she can talk him round, but he can see how that will end and his heart couldn't take it. He closes down, his eyes growing dead, his throat bobbing noisily as he swallows, preparing himself for the worst.

* * *

"Castle, I don't think you get it," she insists, sounding a little brighter, a little more positive.

But this is yet another subtle shift in Kate's mood that the writer misses because he is so caught up inside his own head, listening to the poisonous whispers of years' old demons.

"_I_ don't get it?" he barks, wondering if there is anything he can remain certain of anymore, so afraid of losing her, but unwilling to sit by and wait for it to happen. So he forges on toward what he sees as the inevitable, pushing. "What exactly am I not getting, Beckett?" he asks with a flash of fear-driven anger. "Because seems to me _you_ are the one who doesn't get it."

Kate startles at this sudden vehemence and the sheer volume of his raised voice. It's so out of character. He lowers it a little, but does nothing to lessen the passion in his words. "_Four years_ I've been right here. _Four years_…just waiting for you to just open your eyes to _see_ that I'm right here…and that I'm _more_ than a partner."

Castle stands and begins to pace, too worked up to remain seated any longer. Kate tracks him as he walks the floor in front of the coffee table, his hands making fists by his sides, the veins in his neck throbbing.

He stops walking and turns to face her, a wistful, almost smile softening his face just a fraction. "Every morning, I—I bring you a cup of coffee just so I can see a smile on your face, because I think you are the most...remarkable…maddening…challenging…frustrating person I have ever met. And I love you, Kate, and if…that means _anything_ to you, if you care about me at all, just don't do this."

Kate feels an instinctive flash of anger at being confronted by his ultimatum, unreasonable though she knows her feelings to be deep down. "If I care about…? Castle, you cut a _deal_ for my life like I was some kind of a _child_. _My life_. _Mine._ You don't get to decide," she retaliates, pushing back reflexively, since he pushed her so hard.

Castle looms over her. "You keep going with this, _they're_ gonna decide. They're gonna come for you, Kate."

Kate stands, her hands dropping to her sides, the purple ninja squeezed tight in the palm of one hand. "Let them come. They sent _Coonan_, and he is _dead_. They sent Lockwood, and _he_ is _dead_. And I am still here, Castle! And I am _ready!_"

Castle regards her as if she is insane. "Ready for what? To _die_ for your cause? This isn't a murder investigation anymore, Kate. They've turned it into a war."

"If they want a war, then I will bring them a war, straight to their doorsteps."

Castle shakes his head and begins backing away, heading towards his study. "Well, I guess there's just nothing I can say, is there? Okay, um… Yeah, you're right, Kate, it's your life. You can throw it away if you want, but I'm not gonna stick around and watch you. So this is, uh…over. I'm done," he tells her, with sickening finality, before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

Kate sits down heavily, stunned. She presses her hands between her knees and tries to keep her breathing even. This is so far out of hand. She meant to tell him that her mother's case was important to her, but that he was _far_ more important. But then he went on the attack and she lashed out in a knee-jerk retaliation, all sense flown out the window. They're failing again, before they even start; ripping one another to pieces when they should be shoring each other up.

This has to stop – all the misdirected anger, the miscommunication, the secrets, the lies, the buried, repressed feelings… It has to stop once and for all.

* * *

Kate taps lightly on the door to his office and then she peers around the door when he doesn't answer her. "I'm coming in," she warns him, since leaving his home without hashing this through is no longer an option she can stomach.

Castle is sitting behind his desk, the swivel chair turned to face the window so that his back is to her and all she can see is the top of his head.

There's a window seat over on the far wall, upholstered with padded cushions and filled with tasteful throw pillows. Kate heads for that comfortable-looking sanctuary, her bare feet making almost no sound on the wooden floor. She sits down opposite him, grabs a small pillow to hug to her body, lifts her knees, tucks her feet to one side and curls up in the corner. She lets silence reign for a few seconds, untangling her own thoughts and feelings, and then, when she feels ready, she moves to overthrow.

"That was quite a speech you made out there," she says, watching her partner's face for signs of any tells as to his mood.

Castle keeps his eyes directed at the floor, still seething inside from what she can see. "Could say the same about you," he replies eventually, his voice a rough, low, rumble of sound.

"Castle, I…I keep messing this up. We're—we need to find a better way to say what we want, what we mean," she admits, totally prepared to take responsibility for her own failings in this latest round of miscommunication.

"I think you made yourself pretty clear."

Kate shakes her head until curls dance across her shoulders, glinting golden in the blaze of setting sunlight. "No. What I was trying to say out there, before you yelled at me, is that there _is_ no choice anymore. At one time, yes, I would have run at this case before everything, anything and _anyone_. But you changed all that."

Castle breathes noisily through his nose, through his dissipating anger, still trying to calm down. "That's not what I heard."

"Rick, look at me. Please."

Castle looks up angrily, dragging his gaze up off the floor as if it costs him dearly to do so.

"I can't do this without you. But more than that, I don't _want_ to do it without you anymore. I used to cling onto her case as if it was some kind of life preserver, even when all it was doing was helping me drown. I _owned_ it, Castle. I guarded it, I hoarded it, because it was all I had left of her…and I let it define me. Until I met you. You saw past all of that. You _see_ me as I used to be…before. At least I think you do."

Castle eyes flicker over her face, and she knows that he's looking at her right now, seeing the woman she could be, the scattered remnants of the carefree, happy girl she once was, before a thief broke into her life like the shadow of darkness and stole her happy future from her.

"Getting justice means less to me now than building a life. Talking to my dad today...he made me see that the things you kept from me were no worse than the lies I told you after last summer. He also pointed out what a burden you've been carrying...trying to keep me safe. I'm so sorry, Castle. You don't deserve any of that and yet you never complain."

Castle listens wordlessly, his lips pressed into a thin, resolute line. So Kate carries on, taking advantage of the fact that she has his attention and neither of them is running.

"If something goes right for me now…or wrong…_you_ are the first person I want to share it with, Castle, and I think there's something in that," she confesses, with as much honesty as she knows he deserves.

"Something?"

"A lot. A _whole_ lot."

Castle nods slowly. "I think so too."

* * *

In the end, everything turns on a dime. His need to forgive and forget is buried deep inside his DNA, and can't be kept down for long. He wants a future with her and he will endure almost anything to make that happen - that's just who he is. Her toughened outer shell has been cracked by his love and unwavering care for her, exposing a little of who she used to be, though it will take many more months to chip away at the rest of this protective layer to free her enough to return to the happy, joyful, fun-filled person she once used to be. But she will get there, growing happier than she ever thought possible along the way. The point is, they both want it, and in the end, turns out wanting it enough is all you need to make it happen.

"So...what do we do now?" asks Kate, chewing on her lip, feeling as if she's on the edge of a precipice, about to fall or fly, either way, she's going over.

"You have to figure out what you want, Kate." There is still deep hurt in Castle's voice, and it's filled with a kind of powerless resignation she doesn't like hearing from him, a man normally so filled with fun, optimism, and such a zest for life.

"No. _We_ have to figure out what we want. This isn't just about me anymore. At least I hope it isn't."

Castle sighs, exhausted by all the arguing. "What do you want, Kate? Just tell me what you want? Put everything else aside – your mother's case, the lies we've both been guilty of, the Precinct, Gates, my family…_everything._ Pretend none of it exists. This is just _you_ and _me_."

"But all of that stuff does exist," she points out, never one to live in fantasyland.

Castle looks away in frustration and then he looks straight at her again. "Work with me here?"

She swallows, tamping down her innate need for realism. "What are you saying? Are you saying fresh start?"

"I'm saying…" He sighs and then takes a deep breath. "I'm saying that I've never felt more for any woman than I do for you. _Ever._ You're not easy and you…you can be selfish and closed off at times, Kate, and that scares the hell out of me. But—"

"_But?_" she pushes, knowing that he has a point about her faults and yet still needing to hear the rest of what he has to say. Her heart is suddenly beating too fast for its own good, hope flaring like a flame inside her chest.

"At the risk of sounding like a shampoo commercial, _you_, Katherine Beckett, are worth it. So, tell me what you want. If you can't get past the lies, if you want us to remain just partners, I won't hold it—"

"What? _No!_" she replies forcefully. "How can he even _think_ that after everything we've been through?"

But then what exactly has she done to show him otherwise – she ran today after insisting that she loved him so much she came back for him last summer. She kept him waiting around, snatching scraps of affection when she dared to let them drop at his feet, for the best part of a year. What kind of mixed signals are those?

"Then _what_, Kate? I might believe in magic, but I am no mind reader. You have to tell me…with actual words, what you want from this."

Kate looks trapped for a fraction of a second – like a butterfly beating against glass – and then she takes a deep breath and lets it all go.

"You. This…_us_. I want a shot at normal. I want a _life_, Castle, that is about _more_ than death and the worst that people can think to do to one another." She sets the throw pillow aside, slipping off the window seat onto her knees in front of him and reaches for his hand. "I just want you."

"And the case? This _war_ you were so ready to bring to their door?"

She bites her lip, looks down at her hands, clasped around his, and slowly shrugs her shoulders. "I can drop it, if you think it's too risky. Or we could work on it together…quietly. Whatever you think is best. I promise I'll listen to you from now on, if you _promise_ not to go out on your own, meeting strangers in dark parking garages in the middle of the night. Because if _anything_ happened to you, Rick, I swear to God—" she whispers hoarsely, looking up at the ceiling to stop the tears that are threatening to fall, his hand squeezed tightly in hers.

* * *

Castle seems to consider her proposal for a second and then he nods slowly, making peace with himself or with her, she's not sure which.

"Sounds like we have a deal," he says, his voice, his whole face, flirting with much needed humor. He cannot help but love this woman with all his heart, even when he tries not to. But then she has admitted to the same. They are not so different after all.

Kate laughs, sniffing to cover the small sob of relief that threatens to escape her throat. "Should we shake on it?"

"We could, or—" Castle's eyes twinkle.

"_Or?_" teases Kate, with a hopeful lift of her eyebrows, as a smile breaks out over her face to mirror the one warming her partner's eyes.

Castle's attention lingers on her lips for a second, before his gaze travels back up to meet hers, warming her cheeks as he goes. "I could kiss you," he suggests, tentatively, reaching out to tuck a curl behind her ear.

"Mm," she grins, considering, "...or _I_ could kiss _you_."

"_Seriously_?" laughs Castle. "You're gonna argue about that too?"

Kate shakes her head, still smiling as tears run down her face. "No," she whispers hoarsely, squeezing his hand. "Please…would you just hold me?"


	12. Chapter 12 - And I Kind Of Like It

_A/N: I'm sick right now with a nasty 'summer' cold. So this is a little delayed and if there are errors, that's probably why. I didn't even manage to maintain the same tense yesterday. Hoping I've worked the kinks out today. Have a lovely weekend, everyone. _

* * *

**Chapter 12: And I Kind Of Like It**

_Previously…_

_"Sounds like we have a deal," he says, his voice, his whole face, flirting with much needed humor. He cannot help but love this woman with all his heart, even when he tries not to. But then she has admitted to the same. They are not so different after all._

_Kate laughs, sniffing to cover the small sob of relief that threatens to escape her throat. "Should we shake on it?"_

_"We could, or—" Castle's eyes twinkle._

_"Or?" teases Kate, with a hopeful lift of her eyebrows, as a smile breaks out over her face to mirror the one warming her partner's eyes._

_Castle's attention lingers on her lips for a second, before his gaze travels back up to meet hers, warming her cheeks as he goes. "I could kiss you," he suggests, tentatively, reaching out to tuck a curl behind her ear._

_"Mm," she grins, considering, "...or I could kissyou."_

_"Seriously?" laughs Castle. "You're gonna argue about that too?"_

_Kate shakes her head, still smiling as tears run down her face. "No," she whispers hoarsely, squeezing his hand. "Please…would you just hold me?"_

* * *

Castle stands, gently lifting Kate by her elbows from her kneeling position on the floor as he does so, until they are both standing upright facing one another, toe to toe. She's still in her bare feet, so the height difference between them is more pronounced than usual – he has a good five inches on her with his shoes on. He lets go of her elbows, skating his hands down the back of her forearms until they are holding hands, and then he drops his head forward so that their foreheads eventually come to touch. They sway slightly, blinking, breathing, regarding one another at this new proximity, basking in the overwhelming feeling of finally being able to get this close to one another; closer than Kate can ever remember, ruse kisses aside.

Finally, Castle eases back a little, and then he stoops down to kiss the swell of her cheekbone, marveling as her eyelids drift closed beneath this gentle, loving touch, marveling that he is able to be this intimate with her at all. He wipes a lingering tear track off her cheek with his thumb, restoring her perfection.

"This is it, Kate," he whispers, moving across to kiss her other cheek. "No backing out now."

Kate slides her fingers across his palms, flexing them until she can interlock them with his own, weaving them together. "I don't want out, Castle," she whispers, reaching up to place a kiss just to the side of his mouth. "I want in," she promises, gently brushing her full lower lip across his.

She feels him tighten his grip on her hands, splaying her fingers even wider with his own, and she surprises herself with the sharp intake of breath that follows the pleasant, sensual invasion of his touch. It's like a metaphor for all the ways he's eased himself into her life, even when she thought she didn't want him there. He seems to know what's good for her, especially when she doesn't, and this is a truth that will take some getting used to even now for a woman as self-reliant and in control of her life as Kate Beckett.

She frowns when he lets go of her hands, a word of protest on her lips, but in the next heartbeat she is enveloped in a hug the likes of which she has never experienced before – it's tender and careful, as much as it is fierce and strong, possessive even. She reaches out to slide her arms around his back, her face pillowed against his chest, and, as she listens to his heart pounding beneath her ear, it somehow feels like finally coming home.

Castle kisses the top of her head, and she breathes in his clean, masculine scent, permitting herself feel what it is to be loved by this kind and generous man on a whole new, much more intimate level. They stand like this for a long time, as the sun slowly sets outside the window and the heat finally leaves the day.

* * *

"Hungry?" Castle finally murmurs, startling Kate from her semi-doze.

"Mm," she mumbles back, her eyes heavy with the weight of impending sleep that lurks not too far away.

"Come on," he chuckles, releasing her so that he can tow her off towards the kitchen, hand-in-hand.

"Where are we going?" grumbles Kate, feeling the loss of his body heat immediately, the effect of the cooler air in the larger, more open space of the living room wracking her body with a powerful shiver.

"Food. You hardly ate at lunch."

"You ruined my appetite," she points out, with a sleepy grumble.

"Well, let's see if we can't find it again," he suggests, determined to feed her, as if he were some clucky, Jewish grandmother.

Castle sets Kate down on a stool at the kitchen island and then begins pulling things out of the refrigerator to cobble together a meal.

"You know you don't have to do this," murmurs Kate, leaning on her elbows to watch him move around his kitchen as if it were an adult floor show. "We can order in."

Castle unwittingly exposes the impossibly tan skin of his stomach beneath the hem of his sweater at one point, when he stretches up to reach a high cabinet, and then he manages to display his shapely rear to her every time he bends over to fetch a pan or turn on the oven. Kate stares because she can, because they're knocking down walls and crossing lines, and because he doesn't realize that she's watching him at all.

"And what if I want to cook for you?" he asks, suddenly turning around to look at her, cradling a carton of eggs.

She clears her throat and looks off towards the living room to cover up her own creepy staring. "Then…please, feel free," she replies, with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "We've had a big few days was all I meant. I'm just thinking of you," she adds, watching him root around in a cupboard for a bowl and a whisk.

"Didn't get much sleep," Castle confesses, as he begins cracking eggs into the large glass bowl.

Kate raises her eyebrows. "Yeah, I know how that goes," she agrees. "Tossing and turning—" She pauses when Castle looks at her curiously. "What?"

"Do you want food or not?"

"Food was your idea," she points out, frowning slightly.

"I'm beginning to think it was one of my dumber ones."

_Oh! Her tossing and turning has got him thinking about other ways to spend their time._

"Are you…_flirting_ with me?" she asks, boldly.

"Would you be mad if I was?"

"I think we've been mad enough at each other to last a lifetime. How about we call a truce for a while?"

He nods, and returns to his kitchen duties, becoming lost in thought for a minute.

* * *

"Kate?"

"Mm?" she hums, flicking through a magazine that Alexis has left open on the countertop.

"How is this going to work, do you think?"

"Work?" she asks, closing the pages of the magazine to focus on the important conversation they seem to be starting.

"Yeah, uh…" Castle rubs the back of his neck uneasily. "We work together, _obviously_, and I'd just as soon that continued. But Captain Gates—"

"Castle, aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?" she asks, smirking with enjoyment when his face goes red and he stutters to a halt.

"Hmm?"

"We haven't actually broken any rules here or crossed any lines that I'm aware of."

_Yet_, she thinks, smiling wickedly on the inside.

Castle's face falls, but he easily covers it up. "Right. You're right. Of course, you're right," he chatters nervously, wondering if he's gotten the wrong end of the stick somehow about where the drama and exposition of the past few days was headed.

"But if we _were_…to break a few department rules, I'm pretty sure we could go on working together, just so long as we keep our relationship quiet at the Precinct," suggests Kate, her finger in her mouth, teasing him though she really doesn't mean to.

Castle looks surprised by her suggestion, then a little stunned, and finally something close to encouraged.

"You think you can do that?" asks Kate, watching him carefully place an egg back into the carton.

"Is that what you want?" he asks, keen to clear up any misunderstandings. "I mean, just to be clear here, so I don't go and make a complete fool out of myself."

"What sort of foolishness did you have in mind?" she asks, toying with him now because she can, she hopes. Now that they're past the worst of everything: the yelling and the hurt, the clawing and the pain.

Castle looks embarrassed, maybe even speechless for once, and Kate finds his sudden lack of suave adorable.

He coughs and reaches for the egg again. It looks dwarfed in the palm of his hand. He lets it rest there for a minute, looking up at her face and then back down at the egg.

"Omelet okay?" he asks eventually, and she can't find it in herself to be disappointed. This is a process they're working through. Slow and steady will win this race.

"Perfect. Oh, and I'll have mine _without_ a side of eggshell, if you don't mind," she throws at him, arching her eyebrow, pointing out his lack of attention to the bowl.

He grins at her, realizing what she's trying to do. "Nothing but the best for you, Detective," he murmurs, glancing up at her again and then finally focusing on the task at hand to the exclusion of everything else.

* * *

They eat in front of the TV, the pair of them sitting side-by-side on his sofa, plates of food on their knees, a glass of wine on the coffee table in front of them. It's really nice, companionable. When they break out of the moment, back into self-awareness, it is a little awkward, a little new. But then every relationship begins like this – especially those that grow from a work partnership, into a friendship and eventually love. That's what Kate tells herself anyway.

When she finishes eating, she places her plate on the table and picks up her wine glass, swirling the pale liquid around and around. Castle finishes soon after her and he rises to take their dirty dishes off to the kitchen. She watches him go, his broad back and shoulders, narrower waist, the cling of his jeans and the soft mold of his sweater around the swell of his impressive biceps. She wants to touch that sweater again. She _needs_ to touch that sweater.

It's getting late. When she arrived here this evening after seeing her dad, she had no plan greater than sharing with Castle the clarity she'd gained since she ran out on him at the restaurant and offering up the new apologies she knew she owed him. That fire, that urgent immediacy, has burnt itself out over the last few hours, subsiding to a warm glow that leaves her in need of further bravery, if they are to make anymore of today.

He sits back down beside her, leaving a good few inches of space between them, and the TV flickers on in front of them; moving images, changing colors, the sound turned down so low she has no idea what anyone is saying. It's just wallpaper at this point; a distraction, something in the background to stop them feeling so alone…with one another.

They don't know how to do this yet, she suspects. All the battling, the finding courage, the scrapping and yelling, lies, recriminations, and, finally, the honest to god truths; these things have obscured what set them on this path in the first place – that they have something precious here, between them. That they share a deep love and respect for one another, not to mention a physical attraction that could set the room alight most days.

She can feel him being tentative with her, careful not to push as always, despite the open house she turned her heart into over the last few hours.

So she decides to help herself by helping them both again. She edges closer to him on the sofa, her wineglass in hand, and when their thighs touch, she ignores his look of surprise, the sudden stiffening of his posture, and she tips into him, resting her head on his shoulder, curling her legs up onto the sofa cushions by her side.

* * *

"I barely know anyone on this show anymore," remarks Kate, indicating the TV they are both staring at, for want of a better subject matter.

"You don't watch SNL?" asks Castle, with mild surprise.

"No, that's my point. Last summer, I got into the habit of going to bed early, so I've kind of lost touch."

Kate frowns, realizing too late that her stab at casual conversation has just led them down at awkward conversational cul-de-sac towards bedtimes and the like.

Castle's arm has somehow slipped its way around her shoulders and she's comfortably tucked into his side. But if one of them says, _'So, this is nice'_ she swears she will scream.

"Tired?" he finally asks, when she yawns for the third time in so many minutes.

"Big day," she mumbles, through another cat-like stretch that forces him to loosen his arm from around her shoulders to give her room to shiver and shake as her muscles tense and release.

"You…you have plans for tomorrow?" he asks, cautiously, once they both settle back into their little huddle, getting a little more comfortable and a little less awkward each time one of them has to move – he tops up their wine, she visits the bathroom, they both head for the refrigerator to pick and choose their way through various flavors of ice cream.

"I usually meet my dad for brunch on Sunday—"

"Oh, sure. Of course," he quickly replies, as if he's supposed to know. Supposed to know everything about her life, in work and outside. As if he's forgotten and he's embarrassed, like it shows him to be lacking somehow.

"But…" She hesitates, reaching for his hand and placing it flat on her thigh.

Castle waits for the thing he thinks is coming – an invitation to join Kate and her dad for brunch. He'd go, of course. He'd go if she asks. But he wonders if it's still too soon to expose whatever they are becoming to the public glare before they're really ready. Before they've talked about what and how and…yeah. Especially in front of her dad, who scares him a little, if he's honest.

"Since I saw him today," she shrugs. "We're taking a rain check on brunch until next weekend. So I'm free tomorrow."

* * *

Seth Rogan disappears off the screen with some crazy salute and the local WNBC news channel comes on, indicating that it's already eleven o'clock. They're hitting another crossroads. Kate has no idea whether Castle expects her to stay or whether they're taking this shift in their relationship more gradually.

"Kate?" he asks, when she lets her mind wander and her hands do their own thing apparently, because she's caressing his palm without even realizing it, round and round in a figure eight.

"Mm?" she hums, fingers coming to rest over his lifeline when she notices what she's been doing.

"I don't really know how to ask this," he admits, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair.

They've been through such a lot to get to this moment. But somehow asking for things, clarifying, they're still tainted with the expectations of old – that she will force a denial on both of them, that he won't have the courage to push, or that they will both remain complicit in their subtextual pact, letting the dust settle on today, and the sun rise on tomorrow, leaving them no further forward.

Kate tries to help. She turns so that her knees are resting on top of his closest thigh and she looks up at him. "Maybe just…say whatever it is you want to say, Castle. I won't bite," she promises, with a wan, tired smile.

"Are we really doing this now?" he asks her, his face troubled by uncertainty, eyes darkened by mistrust.

The look on his face is what gets to her most – stabs her in the heart - all the things she's done to break him down to the point where he can't ask for the one thing they both know he wants. The one thing they both want.

She smiles at him, making the curve of her mouth as gentle as she can. Tipping over into passion the very first time comes far easier from a place of anger or surprise, a place of loud noise, heightened emotion and raging desire. Where they are now is so quiet, but unfamiliar. Yelling and then getting right down to it would have been a better way to go, she's fairly certain. But they are where they are, so…

* * *

"We don't have to do anything tonight. I can go home. It's not a big deal," she promises, taking hold of his hand and giving it a squeeze. "We're working on no sleep, Castle, and through a lot of home truths. It'll take some time."

"Is that what you want? To go home?"

"I want you to tell me what you want. Honestly. You're not going to scare me off or—" She shakes her head, looking down at their hands, somehow tangled together and then back up into his eyes.

When he doesn't say anything more, she leans in, kisses him on the cheek, lingering close for a few extra seconds to prolong the moment, and then she stands reluctantly, slipping her sandals on and reaching for her bag.

"I'll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can meet up. Get a bite to eat or something," she offers lightly, though inside she is shriveling under the weight of their combined inadequacies, his and hers.

She pauses by the front door, her hand on the handle for a last look back, and then she opens it, leaving the loft with a sad wave goodnight.

The elevator doors slide open immediately, as if the car has been right there waiting for her all night, anticipating her personal failure, ready and willing to carry her back to her old, safe life, where she keeps her feelings bottled up and doesn't have to risk her heart.

As she hits the button marked 'L' for lobby, she's vaguely aware of a skid, a click, and then the louder sound of running feet out in the hallway. His hand slams between the closing elevator doors, hauling them back open, and then his head appears, unruly dark hair and a serious but hopeful look on his face.

"Kate, what I want—" He takes a deep breath. "I'd really like you to stay."

_TBC..._


	13. Chapter 13 - I Made My Bed

_A/C: Sorry this has been delayed and thank you for all your get well messages. Finally on the mend. :)_

* * *

**Chapter 13: I Made My Bed**

_Previously…_

_"We don't have to do anything tonight. I can go home. It's not a big deal," she promises, taking hold of his hand and giving it a squeeze. "We're working on no sleep, Castle, and through a lot of home truths. It'll take some time."_

_"Is that what you want? To go home?"_

_"I want you to tell me what you want. Honestly. You're not going to scare me off or—" She shakes her head, looking down at their hands, somehow tangled together and then back up into his eyes._

_When he doesn't say anything more, she leans in, kisses him on the cheek, lingering close for a few extra seconds to prolong the moment, and then she stands reluctantly, slipping her sandals on and reaching for her bag._

_"I'll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can meet up. Get a bite to eat or something," she offers lightly, though inside she is shriveling under the weight of their combined inadequacies, his and hers._

_She pauses by the front door, her hand on the handle for a last look back, and then she opens it, leaving the loft with a sad wave goodnight._

_The elevator doors slide open immediately, as if the car has been right there waiting for her all night, anticipating her personal failure, ready and willing to carry her back to her old, safe life, where she keeps her feelings bottled up and doesn't have to risk her heart._

_As she hits the button marked 'L' for lobby, she's vaguely aware of a skid, a click, and then the louder sound of running feet out in the hallway. His hand slams between the closing elevator doors, hauling them back open, and then his head appears, unruly dark hair and a serious but hopeful look on his face._

_"Kate, what I want—" He takes a deep breath. "I'd really like you to stay."_

* * *

The light in her eyes is exquisite.

She looks nervous, surprised maybe, but happy, possibly even excited, if he were to really let himself hope.

"Are you sure?"

He holds out his hand to her, his shoulder and hip wedging the elevator doors open. "Come on. It's past your bedtime," he says, taking her hand for the second time tonight and leading her back inside his home.

He closes the front door behind them and locks up for the night, while Kate hovers in the middle of the room, unsure what to do next. Her heart is racing and she's ten different kinds of nervous all of a sudden; chewing on her lip and casting her eyes around the large open plan space while she waits for her partner. She looks as if she's visiting his home for the very first time and doesn't know where to put herself.

Castle turns round to find her loitering, her bag still thrown over her shoulder, looking less than comfortable, and that's when it really hits him - just how new they are at this and how little they know about each other on so many private, personal and more intimate levels, despite four some years and God knows how many hours spent working together.

"Hey," he says gently, coming towards her, "how about you make yourself at home?"

He leans down to brush a kiss to her cheek in passing, thinking it best to give her some space to settle in and find her feet. But Kate responds more warmly, dropping her bag at her feet, she stops him going anywhere with a firm hand to his elbow, immediately winding her arms up around his neck. Castle is momentarily stunned by her gesture, but then he slowly reciprocates, carefully folding her into his arms. He tries to control his breathing, to calm the thundering gallop of his heart, while relishing the novel sensation of their bodies caressing lightly, the gentle pressure at each point where they physically touch. He has dreamed about being able to do this for so long – imagined being this close to her with every visual, visceral, intellectual and creative cell in his brain – and now that he is, it almost doesn't seem real.

Kate surprises him again when she dips her head to place a soft kiss in the hollow below his throat, pressing her lips against his bare skin right where it disappears beneath the vee of his sweater. "I've wanted to do that all day," she tells him, with a bashful grin.

Her actions catch Castle off-guard and he chuckles in surprise, amazed at how open Kate Beckett can be when she has something she wants to share. But when she settles in against him, her hands fist fiercely in the back of his sweater for a second, as if she's fighting some inner demon by the way she clings to him, and he holds her more tightly, hoping she feels reassured that whatever is in her head isn't real or can at least be overcome.

When he finally eases apart from her, once her muscles loosen and her hands relax, she drags her eyes up to meet his, their mossy hazel-green turned dark and stormy. "Sorry. This is a lot to process," she murmurs, warily watching his face.

Castle brushes her hair off her cheek and carefully tucks it behind her ear. "Tired yet?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows with a slight air of suggestion to ease the tension and uncertainty swirling around them as they sway on the spot.

"Is that an invitation?" she responds, just a hint of tease playing around the corners of her mouth.

"Kate, you have to know by now that you do not need an invitation to my bed…or anywhere else for that matter."

"Good," she nods, looking down, smiling shyly. "Just thought I'd check."

"Why don't you go on in? I'll get us some water," he suggests, ever the hospitable host, just like his mother.

Oh wait! _His mother?_

"Eh, Castle, is Martha coming home tonight?" she asks, feeling her cheeks getting warm at the thought, though they have nothing to feel uncomfortable about. This is his home and is mother is the most broad-minded sixty-something she has ever encountered.

He pauses halfway to the kitchen to answer her. "I try not to keep track," he admits, with a wince and a shiver of disgust. "Ask my mother for details and she's likely to tell you _everything!"_ he advises, making an unpleasant face. "Classic over-sharer," he throws over his shoulder, before burying his head in the refrigerator.

"At least now I know where _you _get it from," retorts Kate, squealing in surprise when he quickly turns around and makes to chase after her.

* * *

Kate steps inside Castle's bedroom and stops. Never having been here before, all she can do is stare, take in every little detail, absorbing all the information his private space immediately gives up about who he really is. It's so masculine. From the color scheme, which is a rich, dark, woody mahogany for the most part, to the art on the walls: giant, black and white photographs of a bull elephant and a roaring lion. And because this is Richard Castle we're talking about, all of the finishes are luxurious – thick rugs on the floor, a huge, sinful looking bed with a dark brown padded leather headboard and a pile of pillows so deep she could lose herself in them and never come out again.

She's still standing near the doorway, staring, when Castle appears behind her carrying a couple of glasses of some kind of nightcap. He has two small bottles of water jammed into the front pockets of his jeans, like a cowboy in a quick draw contest, and it makes him look so damn domesticated it's ridiculous, and yet it's an inexplicable turn-on for Kate: this strong, capable, house-husband side to him. She would never have put that on her list of desirables in a man before, but somehow, with Castle's unique blend of strengths, this softer side to him does it for her too.

"You okay?" he asks, eyeing her with concern. She hasn't moved since she came into the bedroom, and with her bag still over her shoulder, it makes it look as if she doesn't plan on staying.

"Yeah," she nods, turning to face him. She eyes the two glasses of what turns out to be sweet wine: a pretty expensive, topaz-colored, Tokaji, and then she turns away again.

Castle heads over to the dresser by the wall and places the glasses down carefully, along with the bottled water, and then he returns to her side.

"Look, Kate…I know this is new. But it won't always be this strange. I promise," he tells her, taking her bag from her shoulder and placing it on the floor at the bottom of the enormous bed.

Kate shakes her head and leans back against him, shivering slightly when he wraps his arms around her from behind as she rests against his chest. "Don't rush to make it old, Castle. O_rdinary._ We've both waited a long time for this. Let's just enjoy the process, hmm?"

She feels him nod, his head now alongside hers, his chin coming to rest in the curve of her shoulder. He's a great cuddler, she's learning pretty fast. Those muscular arms and that broad chest make for a pretty amazing refuge, since he's large and welcoming, warm and tender, and all hers it would appear.

"I always thought we'd be better at this," she sighs, turning her head to look up at him.

"Beckett, we're not exactly…_bombing_ here," he points out, flexing his fingers on her ribs so that it tickles a little and she squirms.

"Could have fooled me. If the guys could see us right now they'd have a field day."

"_Seriously?_ I get you into my bedroom for the first time and you're thinking about Ryan and Esposito?"

Kate shakes her head and then turns to bury her face against his shoulder. He wraps her arms around her, using his hand to stroke up and down her spine. "I'm…God, I don't know what I'm doing, what I'm saying. I'm just so damn—" she shrugs, at a loss for words now that's she's poured out every ounce of truth she owes him. "This is strange, that's all" she admits, blowing out a breath.

Castle chuckles, continuing to sooth her with his patient touch, amused by this softer, less certain side to his partner.

She pushes off him a little, reaching up to lightly punch his arm for emphasis, while keeping her eyes hidden beneath her hair. "And if you say _anything_ that sounds anywhere close to _'don't worry, it's just like riding a bike'_, I swear to God, Castle, I will—"

"Okay, okay! No bikes, I promise," he laughs, the sound reverberating through her body, sending pleasant ripples and vibrations out across her skin.

* * *

There's a beat of heavy silence before Castle speaks again, his voice pitched low and mischievous. "Did I just hear you say you always thought we'd be better at this?"

"Mm," she hums, twisting in his arms to look out at the bedroom again, so that the back of her head is pillowed against his shoulder.

"So…that means you've _thought_ about it," he points out, smugly, dropping his hands to her hips, sliding his thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans and tugging.

Kate can hear him crowing with satisfaction, even if she can't exactly see him. "Like you haven't?" she counters.

"Might have," he offers, noncommittally.

"_Might—?_ _Liar!_" she snorts, derisively.

"Okay, okay, you got me. I might have had one or two thoughts about us…_doing_ this someday."

Kate laughs. "Doing this?" she parrots, nudging Castle with her elbow. "Listen to us. _Disaster_," she mutters, shaking her head.

He lets her go and slowly turns her round by the shoulders. Once she's facing him, he gently tips her chin up so that she's looking at him. "Hey? We've torn each other to pieces over the last few days, Kate. I'm exhausted, and I'm pretty sure you're exhausted too. Why don't we just get some sleep? I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

Kate nods. She's still disappointed with herself. She thought their relationship would develop so easily, would flow, once she opened up and gave away all her secrets. But turns out Castle is much more of a gentleman than she ever gave him credit for, and she's so used to holding herself back from this that it's taking longer to transition from partners to lovers than she anticipated. Her head is a mess, so many busy thoughts competing. She's wondering what's on that flash drive, wondering who this mysterious Mr. Smith is, wondering how long before the other shoe drops and this brief period of happiness is ripped away from them.

* * *

Castle finds her a t-shirt - one of his own - and since it's so big it's going to drown her to mid-thigh, she tells him that she can sleep in her own underwear, rather than have a pair of his silk boxer shorts slipping off her hips and tripping her up if she has to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

He winks at her. "Nice mental image, Beckett. Thanks for that."

She flicks and snaps the t-shirt so that it hits him on the ass as he heads back over to the dresser to find some sleep attire of his own, and he barks out a laugh of surprise, quickly scooting out of range. She's glad that for all the stress and the nerves, all the newness and the awkward moments, they can still at least have fun. They can still be the best versions of themselves that their partnership conspires to bring out in them...most of the time.

Castle leaves then to go upstairs to Alexis' bathroom to find Kate some basic toiletries – make-up remover, a tub of moisturizer, and a spare toothbrush. Because his daughter is an only child, she has been in the habit of having friends over to stay from a young age, and so she usually has a few extra cosmetic items stashed in her bathroom for emergencies.

* * *

While Castle is upstairs, Kate begins to get ready for bed. The grey tee her partner has given her to wear is a Henley and Kate undoes all the buttons on the front before attempting to pull it over her head. She unbuttons her own white shirt slowly, her mind wandering as she looks around the bedroom while her fingers make light work of her clothing. She lays the shirt on a chair in the corner of the room and then begins to remove her jeans. Lethargy makes her limbs heavy, slowing her progress, and she sways on her feet a little.

The last few days have bruised them both. Revealing the truths they've kept hidden from one another is cleansing in some ways, but undermining in others. It leads to questions like, '_what else don't I know_', '_how well do I really know this person'_ and '_what about the future, how can I be sure will we share everything then'_?

She unhooks her bra and drops it onto the chair with the rest of her things and then slips Castle's shirt over her head, pushing the sleeves up to elbow height. The soft cotton caresses her skin and she hugs it to her for a second, before easing the hem down over her bottom and thighs. It's as long and loose on her as she anticipated it would be, but it smells so perfectly of him that she'd wear it even if it were threadbare and had holes in it just so that she could feel this close to him.

The feeling of closeness she is experiencing right now, standing in her partner's bedroom, wearing his clothes, with the scent of him surrounding her, takes her straight back to the contrast of her summer spent recovering Upstate alone. It causes a tightness in her throat when she recalls the day she woke up in her dad's cabin unable to '_hear'_ Castle's voice in her head at will anymore or even remember how he smelled. That was her lowest point, one that frightened her back to the city faster than anything, before he could fade any further from her life or her memory.

* * *

Once she's dressed for bed, she wanders into the en suite to wash her hands, and that's where Castle finds her - standing in front of the sink, leaning forward slightly, her fingers layered with fragrant soapy suds as she lathers them beneath the running faucet. He stops in the doorway with an armful of products clasped to his chest to watch her. Kate doesn't hear him approach over the sound of running water, but somehow she still senses that he is there.

When she looks up into the mirror, she sees his reflection staring back at her, a look of surprise, confusion and unhidden need on his face.

"Hey," she smiles, reaching for a towel and turning to face him as she dries her hands.

"Uh…yeah," coughs Castle, to cover his reaction to finding her half-dressed in his bathroom. "So, I raided Alexis' stash and managed to find you a new toothbrush and some other things I thought you might need."

Kate hangs up the small hand towel and relieves Castle of the items he's brought downstairs. "Thanks," she smiles, shyly.

He lingers in the doorway, watching her. Kate puts the items down on the vanity and turns back to face him. The air is suddenly too warm, too still, it crackles between them, electrified. They've come so far, and yet they're not where they ultimately hope to be. Bridging that final gap is more proving more tricky than either of them ever anticipated. They are not used to asking one another for the things they want; the language is missing, the shortcuts still unformed, and it shows tonight most of all.

* * *

Kate's loose shirt has slipped off one shoulder and Castle can't take his eyes off her bare skin. So much smooth, bare skin. More than that, his gaze keeps being drawn to the center of her chest, between her breasts, where the deep opening in the unbuttoned Henley is low enough to partially reveal her scar to him for the first time.

Kate sees him staring, and she looks down to see what he's looking at, and then she gets it – the look on his face that spells out all the hurt of a year ago, when she hid herself away from him, cutting him out of her recovery, robbing him of the chance to see her heal and grow stronger, robbing him of the chance to help her and to heal alongside her.

"You can touch…if you want," she says quietly, watching his face color with guilt when he realizes that he's been caught staring.

Castle stands stock still, so she takes a step towards him and holds out her hand. She nods, the faintest of smiles warming her face. "It's okay. I don't mind," she tells him, and he lets her take hold of his hand and guide his fingers to her bare skin.

Kate looks down, watching as she holds his hand gently in place, the very tips of his fingers just glancing off the healed entry wound. After a few seconds she lets go of his hand, allowing him to touch the scar for himself as he pleases. Her heart thunders beneath her ribs, and a light flush spreads up over the skin of her chest and neck.

He's so gentle and reverent, caressing the faded mark with the soft edge of his thumb. Then he suddenly looks at her face again, guilt-stricken and pained, and she watches as he shuts down, halting whatever progress he had just begun to make. He drops his hands to his sides and takes a step back.

"I'll…leave you to finish up in here," he says, backing out into the bedroom. "If there's anything else you need, just…" He waves a hand at the vanity with its many cupboards and drawers down below. "Just help yourself," he says, turning and leaving the room.

* * *

Kate collapses back against the countertop, hanging her head. Eventually, she turns to the sink, brushes her teeth, looking in the mirror when she's finished. She touches her own scar, right where Castle touched it. She can still feel the phantom burn of his fingertips against her skin, the bitter taste of regret sharp on her tongue.

There's still so much hurt there, so much pain to overcome, and though time has passed and they have grown closer again, memories surge to the surface as they confront the fallout of the honesty they've finally shared. And in some ways it's like going through the healing process all over again, only this time they're doing it together.

She steals herself for a second and then she leaves the safety of the bathroom to confront where they are now.

"You know this is healed, right? I'm all better now," she tells Castle, finding him sitting on the edge of the bed with his head bowed and his hands pressed between his thighs. He's still dressed.

He looks up, glancing sideways at her where she stands a few feet away from him, gorgeous long legs stretching up from perfect bare feet until they disappear beneath the hem of his shirt.

He nods, but doesn't say anything.

"Rick, say something, please?" she asks, biting her lip.

She thinks he sees her as damaged, with a scar between her breasts and another, larger, uglier one he has still to see cutting a swathe across her ribs.

He thinks he is still partially responsible for her injury, for her almost dying. Both of them are wrong.

"I'm sorry," is all he can summon. He shakes his head, looking at the floor. "I'm so sorry, Kate."

Kate frowns. "Wait a minute. What are you saying? What exactly are you apologizing for?"

He looks up at her again, eyes forlorn, dulled by guilt and sorrow, radiating the apology he's just offered her. Then his gaze slowly drops back down to the partially obscured scar between her breasts.

"_This?_" asks Kate, coming closer, roughly tugging the shirt down so that her scar is fully visible. "Castle, we've been through this. It's…it's just part of our history," she tries to assure him.

"No…no, we were _apart_ for most of that," he insists, with a flare of such pain in his eyes.

Kate sits down on the edge of the bed beside him and lays a hand on his arm. "You were there for the only part that mattered. I held _on_ because of _you_. And if I could go back in time and change things, I would. You _know_ that."

"I just…I—" He's floundering.

"Castle, look at me."

He turns his head, but keeps his gaze lowered.

"We can't change the past. Nobody can. We've both made mistakes that have hurt each other. The only way we can stop that happening from now on is to look forward. Believe me, I have spent half a lifetime looking back, wondering what if… It changes nothing. It just leads to frustration and disappointment, and worse than that…looking back makes you miss what's right in front of you."

Castle lays his hand on her bare knee. His large palm and fingers swamp her thigh. He smooths his thumb over her patella, circling round and round the flat ridge of bone, watching the slow, gentle movement as he does so. His touch, the repetition, it's hypnotic.

Kate watches him too – how carefully he touches her, how reverently. And it's such a change, such a departure from the brash, playboy millionaire she met all those years ago. A man she had no idea would become her best friend and the man she would fall in love with, a man she had no idea she would come to trust with her darkest secrets, to trust with her life.

"I don't want to miss out on another second of this, what we can be together if we try. Do you?" she asks, quietly.

Castle finally looks up at her, still a little melancholy around the edges as he nudges her shoulder with his own.

"Get into bed. I'll join you in a minute," he tells her, with a departing squeeze of her hand, before he stands and heads off to the bathroom to perform his own nighttime ritual.

_TBC..._


	14. Chapter 14 - And I Sleep Like A Baby

_A/N: Thank you for reading._

* * *

**Chapter 14: And I Sleep Like A Baby**

_Previously…_

_"You know this is healed, right? I'm all better now," she tells Castle, finding him sitting on the edge of the bed with his head bowed and his hands pressed between his thighs. He's still dressed._

_He looks up, glancing sideways at her where she stands a few feet away from him, gorgeous long legs stretching up from perfect bare feet until they disappear beneath the hem of his shirt._

_He nods, but doesn't say anything._

_"Rick, say something, please?" she asks, biting her lip._

_She thinks he sees her as damaged, with a scar between her breasts and another, larger, uglier one he has still to see cutting a swathe across her ribs._

_He thinks he is still partially responsible for her injury, for her almost dying. Both of them are wrong._

_"I'm sorry," is all he can summon. He shakes his head, looking at the floor. "I'm so sorry, Kate."_

_Kate frowns. "Wait a minute. What are you saying? What exactly are you apologizing for?"_

_He looks up at her again, eyes forlorn, dulled by guilt and sorrow, radiating the apology he's just offered her. Then his gaze slowly drops back down to the partially obscured scar between her breasts._

_"__This?__" asks Kate, coming closer, roughly tugging the shirt down so that her scar is fully visible. "Castle, we've been through this. It's…it's just part of our history," she tries to assure him._

_"No…no, we were __apart __for most of that," he insists, with a flare of such pain in his eyes._

_Kate sits down on the edge of the bed beside him and lays a hand on his arm. "You were there for the only part that mattered. I held __on __because of __you__. And if I could go back in time and change things, I would. You __know __that."_

_"I just…I—" He's floundering._

_"Castle, look at me."_

_He turns his head, but keeps his gaze lowered._

_"We can't change the past. Nobody can. We've both made mistakes that have hurt each other. The only way we can stop that happening from now on is to look forward. Believe me, I have spent half a lifetime looking back, wondering what if… It changes nothing. It just leads to frustration and disappointment, and worse than that…looking back makes you miss what's right in front of you."_

_Castle lays his hand on her bare knee. His large palm and fingers swamp her thigh. He smooths his thumb over her patella, circling round and round the flat ridge of bone, watching the slow, gentle movement as he does so. His touch, the repetition, it's hypnotic._

_Kate watches him too – how carefully he touches her, how reverently. And it's such a change, such a departure from the brash, playboy millionaire she met all those years ago. A man she had no idea would become her best friend and the man she would fall in love with, a man she had no idea she would come to trust with her darkest secrets, to trust with her life._

_"I don't want to miss out on another second of this, what we can be together if we try. Do you?" she asks, quietly._

_Castle finally looks up at her, still a little melancholy around the edges as he nudges her shoulder with his own._

_"Get into bed. I'll join you in a minute," he tells her, with a departing squeeze of her hand, before he stands and heads off to the bathroom to perform his own nighttime ritual._

* * *

Kate surveys the bed with her hands on her hips. The butt shaped dent Castle made in the comforter is on the right hand side. His watch lies on the nightstand on that side too. So it doesn't take any of her mad Detective skills to figure out which side of the bed she should therefore be climbing into. She looks around for something to read while she waits for him. This is so far beyond awkward – too much talking and not enough action, she suspects. They are where they are, but all the awkward moments are making her antsy, and she needs something to read to take her mind off the man on the other side of the bathroom door.

She finds a copy of _Scientific American_ lying open on the dresser, pages folded back in an untidy curl around the spine. It's a special collectors edition…on Dinosaurs! She grins, looking down at the page her partner has ceased open: _'Wild Beluga Whales Pass Hearing Test'_. She shakes her head in amusement as she takes the magazine to bed with her while Castle finishes flossing…or whatever he's currently doing in there.

There's a large candle, a hollow melted into its core, sitting on the nightstand on what will be 'her' side of the bed. Kate stares it down for a second. Firstly, because she's not sure what message she'd be sending out by lighting it, and secondly, because she's suddenly wondering who it was lit for last – what romantic interlude her partner might have engaged in, and with whom, that would require the help of candlelight in his bedroom to stage the scene.

She squares her shoulders, blows out a breath and reaches for the small box of restaurant matches lying beside the candle. They both have pasts. There is no getting around that fact when you reach their age and stage in life. They've pretty much lived out their lives in front of one another for the last four years anyway, so it's not as if there are many surprises left lurking beneath the surface. She had just assumed Castle had remained single since he broke up with Gina. But he's a desirable guy in so many ways – fun to be with, handsome, sexy, a good conversationalist, well-informed, kind, and rich; a real catch if you're most women. A stab of jealous burns in her chest as she strikes the match and it flares to life. She holds it to the charred wick of the candle until it catches and then she blows out the match, carefully placing it on the dish the candle sits in.

She left Castle to assume she spent all those weeks of her recovery, all that time that she abandoned him, alone with Josh. He assumed that she _chose_ Josh over _him_. If the roles had been reversed, would she have forgiven him so easily? She knows the answer, she just doesn't want to confront it right now. So she goes to the dresser and she brings the two glasses of sweet wine over, along with the bottles of water, and then she prepares to get into bed.

The comforter is thick and heavy, and she folds it down along with the sheet below, and slides beneath both, feeling the cool, sinful, luxurious glide of fine linen against her bare legs as she slides them all the way down the bed. The mattress is firm, the pillows plentiful, and she settles in comfortably to wait for him.

The issue of her scar was a little uncomfortable. But she's known for a long time that it would be a source of fascination for him. He never got a chance to see it after she was shot, and if the magazine she's currently holding proves anything, her partner is a man of many fascinations, mostly for the weird, the strange and the absurd. So a healed bullet wound, no matter that this is her body we're talking about, would always be a source of curiosity to him. She's pretty comfortable in her own skin, always has been, secure in her physical strength and her ability to turn the head of any man she chose to target, so she quickly lets it go.

* * *

Kate is halfway down a _'Fact or Fiction'_ article entitled: _'People Swallow 8 Spiders A Year While They Sleep'_, when she finally hears the bathroom light click off and the door creak open.

Castle emerges from the en suite still wearing his jeans and the pale blue cashmere sweater from earlier. The shirt he intends sleeping in lies folded at the bottom of the bed, ensuring a floorshow of a kind is about to take place for which Kate has a front row seat. She squirms slightly, trying to look casual and relaxed in her partner's bed, wondering why she hadn't just grabbed him and kissed him senseless earlier when she had the chance to ease some of the uncomfortable tension that's been building between them ever since.

Castle stops just inside the bedroom to admire Kate Beckett in his bed; one of his shirts falling off her shoulder, her hair loose, her knees drawn up to her chest as she pretends to read something.

It's a magnificent sight, and he stands there taking mental snapshots of the scene, while wondering how something so awful as finding out that she lied to him for months could have ended up leading to a conclusion so wonderful, even if he is feeling more than a little out of his depth after that speech about her scar. He feels like an insensitive idiot for drawing attention to it at all. Not his smoothest moment ever, and with the one woman he's literally been trying to seduce for years. He could smack himself. Time to make amends.

Castle clears his throat and Kate's head flies up. "You know, when Alexis was a little girl she had eczema and it used to keep her up at night…not so much the scratching, as her fear that it made her different from her friends."

Kate arches one perfectly plucked eyebrow and sets the magazine aside. "Is that your idea of a bedtime story, Castle, because if it is, I can understand why your daughter couldn't sleep?"

Castle chuckles at Kate's humorous, yet acerbic, remark. "It's my clumsy way of saying I'm sorry if I made you feel anything less than beautiful. Even for a second. These scars…they're a part of you that I'm sure we both wish weren't there. Not because of how they make you look…you're…well, you look perfect to me. But because of the trauma you went through when they happened."

He sits down on the bed beside her, still dressed, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back against the headboard.

Kate looks down at her hands, twisted in the sheets. Until he said it, she didn't think it was important if he saw her differently. Now she knows she was kidding herself if she thought his opinion of her didn't matter more than that of everyone else. "Do you really mean that?" she asks, giving him a shy, sideways glance.

"Well, it's not as if I had to spin you a line to get you into bed," he points out, playfully nudging her shoulder.

Kate lets out a loud guffaw at that, her shoulders shaking, and Castle joins in too when he sees how well she takes the humorous remark. "For that I should get up and go home," she tells him, still laughing.

"Oh, no, please don't," begs Castle, putting on his best little-boy pout.

"You going to sleep like that?" she asks, looking down at his jeans, pale, neatly manicured feet sticking out from the ankles.

"Mm. I'll just get changed," he agrees, easing himself back out of bed, while Kate watches him through lowered lashes; a little revenge after enduring years of his creepy staring.

* * *

He chats to her as he unbuttons his jeans, something funny and inconsequential about his mother, a Bloody Mary and the maître d' at Balthazar, though Kate's too distracted to pay attention properly. She's trying to walk the fine line of watching her partner undress while appearing as if she's _not_ watching her partner undress.

Her game face fails utterly when she hears his jeans hit the bedroom floor in a jarring tinkle of belt buckle, designer denim and loose change. There's nothing she can do to prevent herself from looking up, and he catches her at it, a slightly surprised grin creeping across his face.

"Like what you see, Beckett?" he all but crows, lifting his jeans off the floor to fold them.

Kate rolls her eyes and slowly shakes her head, an unbidden smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Thought as much," Castle adds, making her snigger helplessly. She just can't seem to help herself now her secret is out; no point pretending she doesn't like him anymore. He always could see right through her anyway.

He's wearing sharp navy boxer shorts with a little gold bee motive scattered all over. Kate fights the urge to smile at his underwear by biting the inside of her cheek, giving her face a lopsided look.

"Taking my sweater off now," he warns her, turning away to face the wall, as if modesty were his default position. Modesty has never been a word in Richard Castle's lexicon; it's all for show…or not for show, as it turns out.

"You're an idiot," Kate tell him, shaking her head again, dragging her eyes back down to focus on the magazine, while uncomfortably aware that her partner is shirtless just feet in front of her and all she really, really wants do to is stare until her eyes water and go blurry.

"Last chance, Kate," he sings, lifting the t-shirt off the bed and slowly shaking it loose.

Kate dumps the magazine on the bed and boldly looks up at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"_There_. I'm looking," she tells him, her mouth suddenly watering as she takes in the full magnificence of his muscular torso, his broad shoulders and well-defined biceps. She attempts to be brazen about looking, as if seeing him half-naked does nothing for her. But she fails miserably, because that would mean another lie and they're past that, if they know what's good for them. "Very nice," she adds quietly, giving him a bashful smile of satisfaction.

"There. That wasn't so bad," crows Castle, pulling a Green Lantern t-shirt over his head and finally, sadly, covering up his spectacular body.

"I thought you were tired," hums Kate, smoothing down the pages of the magazine, suddenly not tired in the slightest herself.

"I was thinking of you," he tells her, giving her a long, pointed look, killing it with the quirk of his eyebrow and the twisted smirk of his mouth.

She should wipe that smirk right off his face. "So chivalrous" she purrs instead.

The snipe, snark and tease of this back and forth is welcomingly familiar, and somehow it's helping, even if the things they're joking about go beyond their usual boundaries.

* * *

Castle pads closer to the bed and Kate tries to force her body to relax again. They're spending the night together because he asked her to stay with him, because life is moving on for them, because this is who they are now, even if they are the only two people in on the joke at this point, even if it's still taking a lot of getting used to. She loves him. They'll get there eventually.

He eases back the covers and Kate waits for him, her hands clasped in her lap as the mattress dips when he lowers himself down beside her.

She waits until he's settled, a good thirty seconds of bouncing and fussing and pillow thumping, before she swivels towards him – and how are they even in bed together, like this is some kind of NYPD sponsored sleepover.

"This guy Smith—"

"Oh, come on, _Kate!_" groans Castle, dropping his head into his hands.

"_What?_ I just want to know how much you know about him and when he last contacted you."

Castle turns away from her, the muscles in his back flexing and bunching beneath his t-shirt. He reaches over to turn out the lamp, thumps his pillows hard and then flops onto his side with his back turned to her. "Good night, Beckett. Try to get some sleep."

"You're ignoring me now?" she asks the unmoving curve of his spine, the breadth of his shoulders.

"Trying to."

"But I'm…I mean, we're—"

"_What?_" he snaps in utter frustration.

"I lit a candle," she offers, feebly, trying to make peace.

"To whom? The patron saint of lost causes?"

Kate winces. "Don't be like that."

"Like what? Pissed that the first time we share a bed together the only think you can think to ask me is about _the case_? Hard to not feel used, Beckett."

* * *

Anger flares in Castle as guilt rises in Kate. Then a heavy silence settles between them. Neither of them is up for a fight, but they can't seem to get themselves together long enough to move things forward with any amount of grace or finesse.

Kate turns to her nightstand and reaches for her own glass of sweet wine. The rich, honey-nectar scent has been teasing her senses since she got into bed and she uses it to draw Castle back to a civilized mood again.

"Knowing you, this is something pretty rare and expensive. Shame to see it go to waste," she says, hovering his glass within his eye line.

Castle sighs loudly and flops onto his back. "Only if we drop the other thing until morning?" he bargains, eyeing her suspiciously.

"You have my word. Now drink," she instructs, smiling when he begins to raise himself up again, biceps bulging beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt as he hoists himself back to a sitting position.

This time they do clink glasses, though a quietly muttered _'cheers'_ is all they come up with by way of a toast. The rich, sticky liquid coats Kate's throat and warms her body from the inside out, quickly making her feel loose and slightly more relaxed. The candle's fast burning wick snaps and crackles by her elbow and the flame shimmers, sending dancing shadows out across the ceiling of the bedroom.

"_So_…" he begins, with a languorous drawl, giving her shoulder a gentle nudge.

"Don't joke, Castle. I couldn't handle it right now," she warns him, nerves like tiny champagne bubbles rising inside her stomach, making her feel like a terrified teenager, suddenly alone in an upstairs bedroom at a house party with her first crush, unsure how to make the first move.

'_Make your mind up'_, is what he wants to say. "Wouldn't dream of it," is what comes out instead.

"I—" She sighs, dropping her free hand down on the comforter on her side. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" asks Castle, sipping his wine.

"Lots and lots of things."

"Care to be a little more specific?"

"I've probably said enough," she answers, enigmatically.

"Please tell me there isn't more?" asks Castle, a look of concern in his eyes when she happens to glance his way.

"More what?"

"To apologize for."

"There's always more to apologize for," says Kate, taking another long sip of her wine. "Such is life."

"Spoken like a woman who is weary of relationships."

"No. Spoken like a woman who has let herself and other people down one too many times."

"I think you need to cut yourself a little slack."

"Didn't expect to hear that coming from you."

"Why? You don't see me as the forgiving type?"

"No, the opposite actually. I think you can be a little _too_ forgiving at times." She's thinking of herself. Mainly she's thinking of herself - of all the times she kept him hanging, hurt him in little, undermining ways, knowing it wouldn't stop him coming back for more.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Deep-fried Twinkie," she murmurs, with a purse of her lips.

"_What?_" squawks Castle, angling himself round to face her.

Kate pushes on. "I lit the candle by the bed."

"Yeah, you said. Doesn't seem to be helping the mood any."

"You often light candles when you're…I don't know…_reading_?" she asks, flicking her eyes over towards the guttering flame.

Castle looks lost, confused, like he knows this is a riddle, but for the life of him cannot work it out. "I…I don't light candles when I'm on my own as a rule, no."

"_Oh_," utters Kate, softly, another stab of jealousy arrowing through her. _When he's on his own._

"In fact, the only reason that candle is even there is because of the blackout a couple of weeks ago. Almost broke a toe in the dark trying to find the damn thing, so I figured it might be safer to keep one handy just in case," he explains, watching her face to see if his truthful explanation is the answer she's looking for.

Kate swallows, relief flooding through her. "In case of what?" she asks mechanically, her mind concentrating on certain other things, like his mouth. Lips she knows are soft and a tongue he proved is talented and hungry when they—

"Of another blackout," replies Castle, as if she is stupid or not listening, and right now there's a chance that it's both.

Kate nods. "Blackout. Right," she smiles, too brightly. "Of course."

"Beckett are you okay? You seem a little—"

"Kiss me?" she blurts, breathlessly, twisting away to put her glass down on the nightstand before he can even think to answer.

When she turns back to face him, her cheeks are stained pink, her breathing short and jerky, pupils dilated. Her heart is hammering in her chest and her partner is staring at her as if…well, as if he maybe wants to kiss her too.

"Are you sure?" asks Castle, setting his own glass aside, his eyes never leaving hers.

Kate nods, hypnotized.

_TBC..._


	15. Chapter 15 - No Regrets

_A/N: I know some people have been waiting for a new chapter to this story. I'm not writing much these days, hence the slow speed of updates. I won't apologize for having a life. Suffice to say, I do this for fun, not to get paid. If you're still reading, thank you. _

_I've added a reasonable sized recap from the last chapter to help remind you of where we were..._

* * *

"_The time to go has come and gone_

_Why can't I? Why can't I say goodnight?"_

_**- Clare Bowen:**__ 'Why Can't I Say Goodnight', Nashville._

* * *

_**Chapter 15: No Regrets**_

_Previously…_

_"You often light candles when you're…I don't know…reading?" she asks, flicking her eyes over towards the guttering flame._

_Castle looks lost, confused, like he knows this is a riddle, but for the life of him cannot work it out. "I…I don't light candles when I'm on my own as a rule, no."_

_"Oh," utters Kate, softly, another stab of jealousy arrowing through her. When he's on his own._

_"In fact, the only reason that candle is even there is because of the blackout a couple of weeks ago. Almost broke a toe in the dark trying to find the damn thing, so I figured it might be safer to keep one handy just in case," he explains, watching her face to see if his truthful explanation is the answer she's looking for._

_Kate swallows, relief flooding through her. "In case of what?" she asks mechanically, her mind concentrating on certain other things, like his mouth. Lips she knows are soft and a tongue he proved is talented and hungry when they—_

_"Of another blackout," replies Castle, as if she is stupid or not listening, and right now there's a chance that it's both._

_Kate nods. "Blackout. Right," she smiles, too brightly. "Of course."_

_"Beckett are you okay? You seem a little—"_

_"Kiss me?" she blurts, breathlessly, twisting away to put her glass down on the nightstand before he can even think to answer._

_When she turns back to face him, her cheeks are stained pink, her breathing short and jerky, pupils dilated. Her heart is hammering in her chest and her partner is staring at her as if…well, as if he maybe wants to kiss her too._

_"Are you sure?" asks Castle, setting his own glass aside, his eyes never leaving hers._

_Kate nods, hypnotized._

* * *

"Let me look at you first?" asks Castle, already reaching out to skim the tips of his fingers featherlight along the hollow of her cheekbone, his thumb tracing the firm, sharp line of her jaw as he goes.

Kate releases a nervous, shaky breath at both his request and his surprising touch, watching her partner go still at the unexpected sound and then pause to regard her with curiosity.

"Castle, you've been staring at me for the past four years," she explains, humor dancing in her eyes.

"A little…uh, _impatient_ there, Beckett?" he points out, with a cheeky grin.

"_Imp—_?" she gasps, indignantly, only to be cut off mid-word.

The next thing she's aware of is sound: hungry, breathy, raw, sloppy, gasping, quiet, dirty sound – sounds of his and hers mingling - and the sweet, sweet sensation of her partner's mouth on hers for the hottest kiss she's ever experienced.

Her eyes slip closed and her lips part around the thick, sensual, demanding intrusion of Castle's tongue - sliding, tasting, _owning_ her. Her pulse is leaping in her neck and she's suddenly far, far too warm, despite his shirt slipping down off her shoulder until it pools somewhere around her left elbow.

Her view of the world shifts all of a sudden as she tilts like a spirit level turned on an angle, the bubble in the center her heart, floating in the liquid fluidity of her own body. The movement is dizzying. A fluttered lift of her lashes gives a sudden glimpse of bedroom ceiling, as Castle gently lowers her onto her pillows. His arms are around her neck and back, supporting, while he looms over her, his pelvis mostly resting on the mattress beside hers. She wants to feel him on top of her, to feel the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress, but yet again, he's being too much of a gentleman; too careful. She'll have to be a little more prescriptive about things from now on, she can see.

* * *

They break for air, chests heaving, hands maintaining a constant, restless, roaming motion over each other's bodies, tugging at clothing and kneading flesh and bone; daring to map long imagined physical landscapes. Kate's hips writhe slowly to some imaginary rhythm beneath her partner's, unable to remain still for an instant. Her nipples have peaked hard beneath Castle's soft cotton shirt, and when she chances a glance downward, the shirt seems more off than on at this point, since she failed to refasten any of the buttons after she pulled it over her head.

Castle catches her looking, tracks his own gaze down in pursuit of her own.

"My shirt looks good on you," he says, with a smirk.

"If you say 'but it'll look better off'…" she smirks back, vaguely threatening, while raising one suggestive eyebrow above her blossoming smile.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replies, leaning in close again, checking for permission with his eyes before he gently kisses her, drawing her into a swirl of blissful sensation as his lips mold and tug and move so perfectly over hers, pulling more and more needful noises from her throat, matching her carnal refrain with one of his own, his fingers sliding across her scalp raising goose bumps all over her skin.

Eventually, he rests his forehead against hers, heart pounding. "Can I confess something?" Castle asks, stroking hair away from her face with his fingertips, his eyes following the movement of his own hands before he looks down at her again.

"You took the spare bra from my locker? I _knew_ it!" jokes Kate, watching with pleasure when Castle's fine appreciation for humor springs easily to his face as he delights in her irreverence.

He collapses on top of her, burying his face in her bare shoulder, and they both shudder through a fit of the giggles, clinging to one another as if they do this all the time.

He shakes his head when they finally stop laughing, signaling that he had something else he wanted to say. His eyes are suddenly misty, though the smile still plays at his lips, making the two features look mismatched for a second. "I thought we'd missed our window," he tells her, watching her face to gauge her reaction.

Kate nods soberly, admitting she thought as much too. "It was starting to look that way. Timing isn't our strong suit."

"Understatement of the year."

Kate nods, not mad in the slightest at the implied criticism, since he's generously sharing in this fault with her - making it theirs - even if she more than slightly tips the balance of blame.

"You think maybe we've fixed it? Broken the hex?" asks Kate, eyes wide and hopeful that he might say yes; yes, they've finally succeeded in getting to the same page in this epic love story they've been writing.

"If—" Castle pauses, considering, his fingertips absently caressing the light coating of hair on her arm.

"_If?_" presses Kate, worry making her insides clench nervously. "If _what?_"

"Maybe, if we can keep communicating…keep talking like we have the last couple of days," he suggests, with a lift of his shoulders.

"Then the hex is broken?" repeats Kate, for the avoidance of doubt, looking for absolute clarity from him on this one point.

Castle laughs and leans in to kiss her forehead in a somewhat fond, almost parental gesture. "You and hexes?" he chuckles, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd hear such talk from the lips of Detective Skeptic Beckett."

"Skeptic Beckett? What is that…some kind of secret nickname?"

"Oh, no. No, we have none of those," denies Castle, emphatically shaking his head. "The boys wouldn't dare and I value my limbs too much," he promises, despite the mischievous smile playing at his lips.

"Hmm," hums Kate, doubtingly, narrowing her eyes at her partner.

* * *

Silence descends on the bedroom once more and they are swallowed up by it, stilted, rendered bashful with one another, not so used to doing this yet that parts of their old selves are unable to creep back into the room to reclaim and reset the natural order of things…or at least the former order of things _before_ he discovered her lie and she his.

Castle clears his throat. "Tired?" he asks, eyebrows shooting skywards as he asks what he simultaneously thinks might be the dumbest question-come-suggestion of his entire adult life.

Kate nods, her reluctance to give in to the draining effect of the emotional stress of the last few days - of fighting for him - evident in the unenthusiastic bob of her head. She's feeling confused too, confused and a little uncertain. Castle's behavior, his care and reluctance, his…she can't quite put her finger on it, but there's definitely something. He's holding back.

They're still snuggled close and Castle draws back a little way at this point. Kate snags his shirt with the hook of her fingers, preventing him from moving away any further. And then they stare at one another with a growing level of wonder at her declarative action. Wonder that they've made it here at all, that they've made it this far.

"Kate. I don't want this to start on a…"

Castle sighs and drops his head forward slightly, clearing his throat and running his fingers through his hair.

Kate waits quietly for him to speak, to say something more, to explain what he's thinking. Eventually she reaches out to slide her hand around the back of his neck, long fingers gently, tenderly caressing the smooth skin at the nape while his head is still bowed forward, looking down at the small gap in the mattress that has opened up between them. He feels warm under her fingers, so alive.

"Castle?" she prompts, tipping her head to one side, and he startles a little, as if he'd mentally slipped free of the room altogether, leaving her here alone.

"I'm still…_mad_, Kate," he tells her, quietly but firmly. "I…I want this so badly…you _so very—_"

He breaks off, clenching his fist, and she watches skin stretch tight over bone, turning his knuckles white and smooth as ivory. "But I'm…I'm still mad. You hurt me. Can you understand?" he asks, raising his eyes to meet her worried, concerned, horrified stare.

She bites her lip when the tears come, welling up in her eyes like fat, solid, traitorous little ghosts. When she nods to show him she understands him perfectly – unable to speak - her lower lip still held hostage between her perfectly white teeth to prevent it from trembling, the tears descend her cheeks like downhill skiers on a black run. They drop from her chin - knees tucked tight into chests, aerodynamic, ambitious little balls - before blooming like black roses on his grey sateen sheets where they land silently.

Kate withdraws her hand from his neck and quietly purses her lips. She never thought for a moment that it would be easy, mostly because she's no good at this herself. But she never expected it to be so hard - to hear the truth of how she hurt him, to face the pain she can see in the tension in his face, how torn and tortured he is by the conflict of wanting and the needing time, by the desire she can feel radiating from every pore, competing with a fierce determination to be respected, to not be a pushover she will end up undervaluing or taking for granted in future. She hates this, but she respects him all the more for making a stand.

"I understand," she replies in a hoarse whisper. "When you're ready…maybe then…I mean I know forgiveness is hard and I'm asking a lot here, but the fact that you're still hurting must mean…"

She pauses, tilting her head again until she can see at least one of his eyes. "I know you still care about me, Castle. We wouldn't be…_here_," she points out, sweeping her hand out to encompass the environs of his bedroom, "if you didn't."

"And I know you care too. That's what makes this so…"

"_Hard?_ Torturous? Stressful?" she offers, feeling some of that, maybe all of that, too.

"You find being with me stressful?" he asks, raising his eyes to observe her closely.

"No, I—look, I just meant that I've made so many mistakes where you're concerned. I've made mistakes with relationships in the past too. It sort of became part of who I am…or so I thought."

"What…what does that mean?" he asks, frowning.

"It's a cop thing. You get a few years in and kind of don't expect relationships to last. Everyone knows it, expects it after a while. Civilians don't understand the job, the pressure, the hours, the risks even. But you…you're different. You're right there with me, Castle, by my side for every 3am body drop, at my back when I have to draw my weapon, keeping me company and driving me crazy through endless hours of mindless paperwork—"

"Don't forget making you bottomless cups of coffee," he interjects, just a tiny spark of humor returning to his eyes.

Kate smiles, her voice softening. "Yeah, that too. My point is, no one has ever been worth fighting for before and _no one_ has ever fought this hard for me," she explains, wrapping her fingers around his forearm and taking long seconds to watch herself make this gesture, this physical connection; breaking down years' long barriers.

"And I thought I was being subtle."

Kate laughs quietly at Castle's wry remark. "I hate to break it to you, partner, but that is one word that is missing from your repertoire."

"_I_ can be subtle," he insists, indignantly.

"Sure," grins Kate, patting his arm.

"I _can!_"

"Okay, so we go into the precinct Monday morning and no one will see any difference between us. Agreed?"

"If that's how you'd prefer it?"

"I think I would."

"Then I will do my subtle best to deliver, Detective."

"Thank you."

* * *

Suddenly they are drift again on that sea of silence that keeps rising up and threatening to swamp them. Kate watches Castle struggle with whatever it is that's holding him back. His reticence emboldens her, and so she's able to take time to observe his body language, his facial expression, his shallow breathing, and then it hits her—

He's scared.

"You're scared. Castle, why are you so scared of this?"

He swallows obviously, his discomfort at being caught out and questioned vividly evident in the way his body tenses all over. "I—"

"Go on. Tell me," she cajoles, with gentle understanding. "We're already past the point of no return here."

Castle's eyebrows shoot up and he levels her with a look. "Not quite."

Kate gives him a serious, unflinching stare in return. She knows he's referring to the fact that they haven't slept together yet. But that fact is academic to her now. She couldn't be in this any deeper if she tried. "Far as I'm concerned we have. So…talk to me. _You_ came after me, Rick. You asked me to stay here tonight. What's bugging you? Have you changed your mind?"

"No! _No_, I—"

"This is me," she tries, attempting to coax him to open up. "Just…tell me."

It doesn't work.

"_Exactly!_ You're Kate Beckett. _The_ Kate Beckett," he stresses, as if that should mean something, should explain everything away.

"Castle, what does that even mean? If anyone should be saying that it's me. You're _The_ Richard Castle, world famous author. I'm just a girl from New York who went off to Stanford with ambitious dreams, and then ended up right back where she started, a graduate of the Police Academy, an NYPD grunt. Let's not turn this into a pissing contest."

"Kate, you were never _'just'_ anything. Girl and woman you have always been extraordinary. I've heard it from your dad, the stories, your determination, independence, from Maddie, and the crazy tales the boys tell from before my time—"

"I'll kill the little traitors."

"I'm scared because I jump in too fast, I fall too hard, I lose myself in every relationship, and then…then I wake up one morning and somehow or other, despite my best efforts, it's all over. Suitcases are packed, jewelry gathered together, they always leave with more than they arrived, every single time, and then I'm alone again." He shrugs. "It's who I am."

"Well, maybe there's more cop in you than we first thought," points out Kate, reaching out to stroke the back of his hand.

* * *

Kate sits up, propping her pillows behind her and urging him to do the same, and then she turns to face him so they can talk properly.

"You're not jumping in too fast, Castle. Not this time. It's taken us four years of circling one another, of getting a measure of each other, to get to this point. We've spent months apart and _still_ we always find our way back to each other. You're angry at me right now because you told me you loved me and I couldn't admit that I heard you or tell you that I loved you back. I'm mad at you because you tried to protect me and I felt betrayed…but mostly scared for you, scared at how vulnerable you made yourself for my sake."

"And I'd do the same thing again," he warns her.

Kate nods, and then she looks down at her own hands. "I know you would."

When she looks up at him again her eyes are shining, burning with a renewed fervor. "Castle, I'm _not_ Meredith and I'm _not_ Gina. You and me together make a different kind of chemistry. Call it alchemy…magic, if you want. Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared too. That's partly why it took me so long to…" she shrugs, because he knows all of this.

"What scares you?" he asks, needing to know the fears that lurk inside her head, if they look in anyway the same shape and color as his.

"The possibility of messing this up and not having you in my life anymore in any form. I was settling, Castle. Taking the safe path because the thought of not seeing you anymore was…well, it's…I don't even want to go there. Not even theoretically."

"Do you think Lanie and Espo had this trouble?"

Kate emits a sudden ripple of surprised laughter at her partner's intentional or unintentionally funny question. "_No!_"

Castle sits chuckling beside her.

"I'm sure she just put on one of her _'Lanie dresses'_, got him drunk, told him what was going to happen next... There would be no more talking after that, believe me," assures Kate, arching one of her eyebrows, knowingly. "If they had a heart-to-heart, I'm sure it came _after_. If you know what I mean?"

"Are we being too serious about this?" he asks, glancing at her.

"No. No, I think we're being…you and me. Cautious, careful, considered, because I think we both want this to become something that's going to last, if that's not overstating it?" she asks, a little shyly.

"Speaking for both of us already, Beckett?" he teases, bumping her shoulder with his own.

Kate grins, her cheeks flushing with a little higher color. "Just getting in a little practice," she replies, boldly.

"I like you like this," he blurts, after a beat or two of easier silence, surprising her with his candor.

"Like what? Running off at the mouth?"

"Open. I want us to talk like this more often, to communicate better. We're too…too careful with one another. I was always scared that if I opened up, you'd run."

"Time was I probably I would have. Not anymore. I'm pretty sure if either of us took off running we'd only end up bumping into one another at some point anyway," she points out, smiling softly.

Castle yawns and Kate is dragged inexorably into mirroring him with an unavoidable yawn of her own.

"Want to sleep on it?"

"I don't need to sleep on any of this. But, yeah, I know what you mean. We should get some rest."

* * *

They settle down for the night. Both rolling onto their sides and facing the same wall. Castle tentatively reaches out a hand and lays it on Kate's waist on top of the comforter. She covers his hand with her own and tugs to show him that she wants him closer. Castle edges across the bed until he is more of less pressed along the length of her back, their knees bent; little facsimiles of one another.

He kisses the bare skin that lies exposed at her shoulder, nudges his nose into her hair to soak her in, and then finally he rests his head down on the pillow.

Kate strokes the ridges of his knuckles with her thumb, rhythmically, where his hand lies heavy on her waist. She feels sleep slowly begin to beckon her away; just a short walk tonight from wakefulness to peaceful oblivion, in contrast to some of the endless, unfruitful route marches she's faced while searching for sleep in the past.

"Hey, Kate?" whispers Castle, just as her eyelids begin to grow impossibly heavy.

"Mmm?" she murmurs, bordering on incoherent.

"Thanks for understanding."

She summons her faculties, dragging herself back up to the surface to respond to him.

"You don't have to thank me for anything, Castle. Least of all that. Now sleep," she whispers gently, laying her cheek on her hand. "Night!"

He could swear he hears her call him '_love'_ as he drifts off with that brand new, champagne fizz of excitement at finally starting this with her racing around his bloodstream and eventually filling his dreams with stunningly vivid color.

_TBC..._


	16. Chapter 16 - I Don't Mind Saying

_A/N: Can I just say thank you so much for still being there, for still engaged with this story despite the delay in updating and the slow pace of progress in the tale itself. I appreciate all of you so much._

* * *

_**Chapter 16: I Don't Mind Saying**_

_Previously…_

_They settle down for the night. Both rolling onto their sides and facing the same wall. Castle tentatively reaches out a hand and lays it on Kate's waist on top of the comforter. She covers his hand with her own and tugs to show him that she wants him closer. Castle edges across the bed until he is more of less pressed along the length of her back, their knees bent; little facsimiles of one another._

_He kisses the bare skin that lies exposed at her shoulder, nudges his nose into her hair to soak her in, and then finally he rests his head down on the pillow._

_Kate strokes the ridges of his knuckles with her thumb, rhythmically, where his hand lies heavy on her waist. She feels sleep slowly begin to beckon her away; just a short walk tonight from wakefulness to peaceful oblivion, in contrast to some of the endless, unfruitful route marches she's faced while searching for sleep in the past._

_"Hey, Kate?" whispers Castle, just as her eyelids begin to grow impossibly heavy._

_"Mmm?" she murmurs, bordering on incoherent._

_"Thanks for understanding."_

_She summons her faculties, dragging herself back up to the surface to respond to him._

_"You don't have to thank me for anything, Castle. Least of all that. Now sleep," she whispers gently, laying her cheek on her hand. "Night!"_

_He could swear he hears her call him '_love'_as he drifts off with that brand new, champagne fizz of excitement at finally starting this with her racing around his bloodstream and eventually filling his dreams with stunningly vivid color._

* * *

For once there is no pre-dawn phone call to shatter the nocturnal silence, no tragic or mundane death-by-misadventure to breech the flimsy wall that exists between waking and sleeping. There are no nightmares to tear themselves out of disturbing clutches before they drown, suffocate or burn. They sleep peacefully, side-by-side, unmoving, as if they have been married for years and long ago perfected the art of sharing a bed.

Nature's sophisticated alarm clock – Kate's own circadian rhythm – is what wakes her. As the light outside morphs from the smudged grey of early dawn to a deeper, bluer blue in the form of slatted shapes creeping out across the bedroom floor from between the wooden blinds, she comes back to herself, to awareness of being, to an acute awareness of _being_ where she now is – in Richard Castle's bed, with his arm possessively draped around her waist, his large hand splayed flat against her stomach. She drifts with this quiet knowledge and her partner surrounding her, for several minutes, a smile of bliss playing at her lips, and then she eases herself from beneath the shelter of his arm to turn over in bed and watch him, unobserved.

His breathing is even and constant, like the relentless, eager rush forward and reluctant retreat of gentle waves rolling onto a sandy beach. He sleeps as if he is without care or troubles to bother him, and Kate hopes that nights are always like this for him – restorative, restful. Because she knows that she has kept him from slumber in the past. Worry, nightmares all of her making - _she_ the star, the victim, the temptress and _he_ the savior, the failure, the seducer… So many stories told by their subconscious minds to manage and muddle through the thoughts they were unable or too reluctant to face while awake; voices kept from speaking up, hearts quietly smothered.

Castle's features are smoothed by the lassitude of sleep: muscles relaxed, every wrinkle and worry line rendered nearly invisible by the untroubled state of his mind as he slumbers on beside Kate, oblivious to her presence save for the most nebulous of memories flitting around his brain that they fell asleep beside one another hours before.

He is quite beautiful, she thinks, as she watches him, though this choice of adjective is not one that will readily find its way from her lips to Castle's ear in a hurry. But the lush, dark head of hair, the strong nose with its slightly crooked profile, the slant of his lips, the shadow of stubble coating his jaw, all of these elements work together to create the charismatic, handsome man that she knows so well, that she loves so deeply it pains her to think of it some days. When her life feels precarious, when the worst that humanity can think to do lands on her desk demanding attention, when she witnesses her friends put in danger to protect others, when she thinks about her mom – a beautiful, worthy life cut short – and her dad… That is when she is most fearful of allowing herself the luxury of his love and of permitting herself to feel everything she knows she is capable of feeling for him in return.

Kate watches over her partner for another minute or so, until a sun-speckled pattern crawls out across the wooden floor, dust motes swirling and sparkling in the growing daylight like miniature glitter balls, and then she smiles, fingers caressing the pillow close to her Castle's cheek – the tender gesture enough for her, yet not so close than it might disturb or wake him.

She eases out of bed, feet bare on the warm wood, and leaves the bedroom to make them coffee, toes flexing to absorb the warmth of the floor beneath her. His cotton shirt gently gazes her thighs as she walks keeping her decent, but still she is glad that they have the loft to themselves this Sunday morning. The last few days have been an endlessly exhausting round of emotional revelations on both sides, and they need time alone, just the two of them, to come to terms with the infractions revealed and the feelings shared; a moment of calm to orient themselves towards the path that will lead them to whatever comes next.

* * *

Coffee made in the calm tranquility of his empty loft, Kate longs to sneak back beneath the covers with her loot. She checked the time on the digital stove display while she was finding her way around his kitchen, and was reassured to discover that her body clock performed right on cue. It's just after 7am, her natural time for waking, pre-dawn body drops and crime scene demands aside. Even on weekends she finds she sleeps no later than seven, unless she has somewhere special to be. Right now, that somewhere special is back in her partner's bed, with coffee and warm rolls to surprise him.

Castle stirs while she's gone, her weight lifting from the mattress, the loss of body heat, or maybe some, as yet, undiscovered psychic connection severed when she left the room, conspiring to drag him up out of sleep. Whatever it is, he stumbles his way back to wakefulness initially believing that he imagined the last twelve hours. He flops onto his back against his pillows, shaking his head from side to side as he covers his face with his hands, a deep feeling of disappointment settling in his chest. He's not surprised by her departure, merely saddened that she has reverted to type when he had hoped they had made more progress than that.

Kate watches him flop over in bed from a deep armchair in the corner of the room, giving him a moment to come to before she presents him with breakfast. When she sees the arm he throws wide across the mattress, his searching hand hoping to find her, being followed by a feeling of such despondency that he covers his face with his hands to stave off what he believes to be the disappointing start to his day, she finds herself unable to hold off revealing her presence any longer.

She clears her throat and then watches as he bolts upright in bed with such predictable alacrity that it's mostly comical. Comical, if it weren't so heartbreaking for what it symbolizes – that he has set the bar so low when it comes to his personal expectations of her that he more than expects her to be gone already – to have fled the scene in the pre-dawn light.

She cradles her own coffee cup to her chest, legs crossed, his long shirt pulled modestly down as far as it will go, at least covering her underwear.

"Morning." She tips her head to the side to greet him, her voice tuned low and gentle, a hint of shyness swirled in there too for the newness of this domestic scene.

"I thought you'd—" he rasps, pausing to clear his sleep-parched throat as he rests on his elbows, blinking owlishly in the warm, morning light.

"We have a day off," she smiles easily, a touch of eagerness to her tone.

They speak simultaneously. He stares.

_We._

"Castle?"

He continues to stare, as if she's some kind of mirage or a famous work of art he's seeing in person for the very first time.

"I…I mean, if you have plans, I can—" She thumbs in the direction of the front door, turns her head to follow her gesture. "I can go home, give you some space…I have laundry," she shrugs, when he says nothing further, just goes on watching her. "Sunday is usually brunch with my dad and then chores for me," she states, sharing a little more of her life with him every chance she gets, letting him in in all the ways she can think of to make up for her past shortcomings.

"Great. I'm all your—"

He pauses, seems to rethink his exuberant statement, though they both know what was on the tip of his tongue.

_I'm all yours, Kate Beckett, and it was ever thus._

"I…I mean, I'm free if you are," he says, toning it down a little.

"Great!" replies Kate, brightly, taking a long-overdue turn to be the driver in this nascent personal relationship of theirs.

She knows he's still hurting, reluctant to tumble into this if it means they crash and burn. So, she'll go at his pace, which is a darned sight faster than _her_ pace used to be, and if she shows off her new enthusiasm along the way…well, it won't hurt either of them to see how she really feels for a change.

Castle, for his part, has never seen her be so eager before, not about him. Not when it comes to spending time with him, alone, just the two of them. She's surprising him at every turn. He thinks maybe he might like it.

* * *

"I made breakfast," she tells him, getting up to add her coffee cup back onto the tray she has prepared so that they can eat in bed together.

Castle gawps even more, if that is possible, his eyes growing wide as Kate Beckett of all people walks towards his bed with a tray of coffee and warm rolls that she put together in _his_ kitchen, wearing one of _his_ Henley's. Forget sexy lingerie and imaginings of a more salacious kind, this here, right now, is one of the sexiest things he's believes he's ever seen, and they haven't even consummated their relationship yet.

"Staring," murmurs Kate in faint admonishment, while wearing a kooky smile that says she actually finds it kind of cute or amusing maybe when she places the tray in the middle of the bed and then crawls back in beside him.

"You made me breakfast," mumbles Castle, rubbing the back of his sleepy head, fluffing up his hair and adding to his general layer of rumpled adorableness.

Together they smell sleep-warmed; of fabric softener mixed with coffee and the scent of fresh baked goods. Castle thinks he might never leave this bed again if someone would only keep them in supplies and guarantee that Kate would remain by his side.

* * *

"_So_…" says Kate, tearing a soft breakfast roll apart and slathering a corner with a little butter, "what do you want to do today?"

Castle has managed to take a sip from his cup of coffee, but aside from watching her eat breakfast _in bed_ beside him, he has been unable to function on any higher plane just yet.

"I…uh…" he shrugs, floundering again when his gaze lands on the bare orb of her shoulder where his shirt has conspired to slide down her arm on one side exposing what seems like an acre of bare skin.

"Not sure we can fit all that in," teases Kate, turning to grin at him when he laughs in surprise at her smart, sarcastic remark.

"I'm just…"

"Getting used to this?" suggests Kate, with heart stopping honesty, nodding along with her partner when he nods back.

"Yeah. Could say that," acknowledges Castle, finally helping himself to the small basket of baked goods.

"Okay, well, how about you let me take the strain today?" offers Kate, keen to make an early start reassuring him a relationship is what she wants, is what she's prepared to work for. "Let me make a plan for us?"

"Do I get a veto?" he asks, in all seriousness, drawing a surprised chuckle from Kate, who has to cover her mouth with her hand to prevent the escape of some errant crumbs.

"Uh…yeah. Sure. _One_ veto, Castle. Other than that we do as _I_ wish. No complaining."

"If there's a shooting range involved can I just say right up front that—"

"_Wait!_" interrupts Kate, holding up her hand to silence him. "You think _that's_ what I do on weekends?" she asks, half amused and half annoyed.

"Well, I— You're so good at it, I just kind of assumed…" he trails off, withering under her arched-eyebrow stare. "Must take a lot of practice," he mumbles quietly, reaching for the little bowl of apricot jam.

"Okay, you are coming with me today. No excuses. And that veto is hereby revoked, Castle," she warns him. "You are going to experience a typical Kate Beckett Sunday…minus the laundry and brunch with my dad, of course," she amends, surprised to see him grin eagerly and nod with enthusiasm at her bossy declaration for their upcoming day together.

"Can't wait," he tells her, casting furtive, pleased little glances in her direction while they finish their breakfast in bed.

_TBC..._


	17. Chapter 17 - Lazy Like Sunday Morning

_A/N: Thank you for your reviews and messages. Another update, and as some of you might have seen on Twitter, this story has run so much longer than I expected resulting in me running out of song lyrics from 'Not Ready To Make Nice' for the chapter titles. Still, we won't let a little detail like that stop us._

_Enjoy..._

* * *

**Chapter 17: Lazy Like Sunday Morning**

_Previously…_

_"…how about you let me take the strain today?" offers Kate, keen to make an early start reassuring him a relationship is what she wants, is what she's prepared to work for. "Let me make a plan for us?"_

_"Do I get a veto?" he asks, in all seriousness, drawing a surprised chuckle from Kate, who has to cover her mouth with her hand to prevent the escape of some errant crumbs._

_"Uh…yeah. Sure. __One __veto, Castle. Other than that we do as __I __wish. No complaining."_

_"If there's a shooting range involved can I just say right up front that—"_

_"__Wait!__" interrupts Kate, holding up her hand to silence him. "You think __that's __what I do on weekends?" she asks, half amused and half annoyed._

_"Well, I— You're so good at it, I just kind of assumed…" he trails off, withering under her arched-eyebrow stare. "Must take a lot of practice," he mumbles quietly, reaching for the little bowl of apricot jam._

_"Okay, you are coming with me today. No excuses. And that veto is hereby revoked, Castle," she warns him. "You are going to experience a typical Kate Beckett Sunday…minus the laundry and brunch with my dad, of course," she amends, surprised to see him grin eagerly and nod with enthusiasm at her bossy declaration for their upcoming day together._

_"Can't wait," he tells her, casting furtive, pleased little glances in her direction while they finish their breakfast in bed._

* * *

Eventually, the French press is drained down to the dark roast dregs and only crumbs are left on their plates. Breakfast is over.

"Right…so, I think I'll go home and get cleaned up, put on some fresh clothes…" suggests Kate, carefully reloading their dishes onto the tray.

She feels Castle go still in bed beside her, his coffee cup poised at his mouth.

"Sure. Right. Of course," he nods, trying not to look like a man who has just lost a dollar and found a quarter.

His efforts are futile. Kate can sense his disappointment, and since she has no plans to move in with him anytime soon, she knows that this issue – of her having to go back to her own place to spend the night or get clean clothes or prepare herself for work – is going to keep coming up, and so she decides to tackle it head on.

She takes a breath to speak, but Castle gets in ahead of her. "You could always shower here…I mean, guest bathroom is upstairs and I have—"

"Castle?" she says softly, smoothing the covers out across her legs.

"Hmm?"

"Just because I'm going home to change doesn't mean anything is wrong between us," she points out, trying to gauge his reaction, to make sure he understands the point she's making. "Okay?"

He nods, but still manages to look hurt.

"Look, I know that believing things have really changed between us…that _I've_ changed, will take some time. I understand that. I just wanted to…to say that…anyway. Just…make sure we're on the same page."

"Of course," replies Castle, a little stiffly. "And thanks," he murmurs, raising his eyes from his empty coffee cup to meet her penetrating stare.

"Meet me?" asks Kate, swiveling in bed to face him.

"Meet you?" he repeats, blankly, still trapped down his own deep well of disappointment.

"Yes," she grins, bouncing on the bed with sudden enthusiasm.

"At your place? You want me to come pick you up?"

"No. Meet me…meet me at…" She pauses to think for a second, digging her nails into her scalp and the messy bun she's twisted her hair up into. "_The Bluebird!_ Meet me at the Bluebird Coffee Shop."

"_Okaaaay_," agrees Castle, drawing out his reply along with an amused, puzzled frown.

"You want to see how I spend my weekends, then we have to start at the Bluebird. East Village coffee date. Kind of appropriate, don't you think?" she grins, leaning in to press a swift, joyful kiss to his cheek, before she begins backing out of bed, unwittingly giving him a wonderful view down the front of her/his shirt.

Kate kneels on the edge of the mattress before lowering her feet to the floor and she looks so…so _renewed_ that Castle can picture her as a child – the carefree exuberance, the fearlessness, the dazzling light she was before darkness blighted her family's life and dimmed that inner glow.

"Bluebird it is then," he agrees, pieces of his heart slotting back together with such speed it leaves him breathless just feeling what her enthusiasm can do to him.

"Give me—" She looks around his bedroom for a clock. "All this fancy art and you don't even have a clock?"

Castle reaches for his cell phone and holds it up, smiling. "All I need to tell the time right here."

Kate shakes her head slowly, her hands now on her hips. "Our list just got longer," she warns him, waiting for him to reveal the time. "Tick tock, Castle," she adds, tapping her wrist where her father's watch would usually sit.

"Clock shopping, Beckett?"

"What's wrong? Clocks remind you of ageing? The sands of time running through your fingers?" she laughs, skilfully dodging the pillow he aims at her head.

"No. No, I'm fine with it," he insists, bravely, jutting out his chin in a gesture he hopes comes off as manly and virile.

"Come on, _what?_ Out with it, Castle," she laughs, sensing his reticence.

"Just…" he shrugs. "Shopping for household items together? Isn't that a little too close to…_nesting?_" he whispers, before gasping in horror and covering his mouth with his hands, eyes wide as saucers for comical effect.

_Touché, Kate Beckett._

Kate purses her lips, rolls her eyes and says, "Just tell me the Goddamn time, Castle."

* * *

He wishes Alexis were here…and then he doesn't. Having help selecting a shirt that says 'casual Sunday' but is still date-worthy would be nice. However, letting her see how keyed up and nervous he is, how much he believes is riding on this day together…

Nah, he does _not_ want to let his daughter get any kind of glimpse of that.

So he tries on three shirts, each one bluer than the last, and then he lays them all out on the bed in a row and plays _eenie meenie miney mo_ with them, until he gets to wear the shirt he wanted in the first place.

His hands fumble over the buttons, fingers feeling like fat hot dog sausages – stiff, useless and uncoordinated – as he tries to force what feels like a dinner plate through the eye of a needle. He dons dark wash jeans he hopes make his butt look good and a pair of navy blue, swede Tod's driving shoes, the classic rubber pebble sole and heel picked out in violent orange. Alexis asked him if he'd lost a bet with Ryan the day he brought the loafers home and he hasn't worn them since. Today, however, he decides is a day for bold choices in everything…so the lucky loafers are going to hit the sidewalks of Manhattan by Kate Beckett's side, his daughter's teasing be damned.

* * *

Across town, Kate is facing a dilemma of her own: hair up or down? She usually showers late on a Sundays after having devoted a couple of hours to household chores, and then she simply throws her damp hair up into a ponytail to go and meet her dad for brunch. But today is closer to what she is beginning to let herself think of as a date...with Castle, and so doubts form in her mind as to how she should dress for this particular Sunday.

She's on the point of getting out her hair dryer when she stops and reassess. She promised she'd show Castle a 'typical Kate Beckett Sunday', so it would be disingenuous to start moving the goal posts now.

The hairdryer goes back in the cabinet and her damp hair goes up into a hair tie, ponytail secured high on her head, messy, fast-drying curls tumbling down the back, loose hair escaping in tendrils around the nape of her neck and by her ears to create a soft frame around her face. She quickly shimmies into a pair of red skinny jeans and a loose purple top, her heart beating too fast to be healthy, and then she slides her gold sandals back on to finish off her outfit. An armful of thin gold bangles, a pair of red and gold drop earrings, her tan bucket bag, and she is ready to go.

* * *

Kate stops by the bodega, one block over from her apartment, to pick up the Sunday papers and then she walks the few remaining blocks to the Bluebird Coffee Shop where she agreed to meet Castle. Flat sandals, her naturally long stride, and first date nerves mean she arrives at the coffee shop first, almost ten minutes early. She chooses a table in the window, orders coffee for herself and then spreads the newspapers out on the table's worn blue surface. She's halfway through the crossword when she hears a tap on the window, glancing up to find the bluest pair of smiling eyes looking in at her.

Castle looks breathtaking, even through the dusty coffee shop window, and her heart rate ramps up another notch. She takes a deep breath to calm herself, squeezing her knees together in an attempt to get a grip, if she's to stand a chance of not giving herself away the second he lays eyes on her.

"Now, if you'd only had a clock, Castle, you'd have been here on time," she teases, as she goes on the offensive to cover up her nerves. She makes a Martha Rodgers-worthy production of checking her father's watch once her partner makes his way inside to their table.

"_I'm_ on time!" he declares, whipping his phone out of his pocket and swiping at the screen to check. "_See!_" he shows Kate, holding the cell out to her.

Kate is suddenly standing by his side before he notices, and she stretches up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, one hand lightly resting on his arm to steady herself. When she speaks, it's in such a warm, intimate tone that the nerves become all his. "Take a seat. I'll get coffee," she grins, shaking her head at how easy it is to tease him up today.

* * *

When she returns to the table with her wallet in one hand and Castle's coffee in the other, she finds him stretched out in one of the old wingback armchairs with the magazine supplement in his hand, trying to finish the crossword Kate had been working on.

He offers her a pleased, though slightly bashful, glance when she sits down, and then he waggles the magazine in front of her. "You're good," he remarks, giving her an appreciative smile. "You knew the Russian city where the Romanovs were murdered off the top of your head?"

"Sure. Only some people spell it with an E and some with a Y, so…" she shrugs, carefully placing his coffee cup down in front of him.

"Thanks. Ever been?"

"To Ekaterinburg?"

Castle nods, his chin resting on his hand as he watches her with utter fascination.

Kate takes a quick sip of her coffee before answering. "Mmm," she hums affirmatively, nodding while she swallows her coffee. "I took a trip to Russia one summer. Visited the woods where the Bolshevics buried the bodies of the Tsar and his family. The Soviet government demolished the house in Ekaterinburg where the murders actually took place. They built the Cathedral-on-the-Blood on the same spot, but it didn't open til 2003, a few years after I visited."

He's watching her intently as she speaks, a look of unguarded wonder and something she thinks might be pride on his face.

"Your brain is _so—_"

Castle stares at Kate, his sentence left unfinished. She can only guess what he intended to say next, but the expression on his face says his mouth and his brain have become slightly disconnected today, if the bright flush of embarrassment staining his cheeks is anything to go by.

Kate decides not to put him on the spot. He looks nervous enough without more teasing. So she lifts her pretty blue coffee cup and holds it out towards his to indicate she wants to make a toast.

"_To_…a lazy Sunday. May today be the first of many," she adds, unflinching when he holds her gaze and swallows thickly for all that she is saying about the future with that simple, yet bold, statement of intent.

"I'll drink to that," he manages to get out, eyes shining with so much fragile hope.

* * *

They drink their coffee in silence for a couple of minutes, shooting shy little looks at one another every now and again. Eventually, Kate picks up the small, laminated menu that's wedged between the sugar dispenser and a blue glass vase containing a single red gerbera daisy.

Castle assumes she's just pretending to look at the menu to pass the time or distract herself from the tension that's arcing between them, until she speaks, that is.

"I know we ate breakfast already, but they do these _amazing_ truffled eggs on brioche here. Want to share?" she asks, eyebrows shooting up in hope, along with her grin.

"With a smile like that, how could I refuse?" concedes Castle, holding up his hand to flag down a passing waitress and place their order.

They read the papers until the food arrives, broadsheet pages spread messily over their little table, the sections they don't want or are finished with stacked in an untidy heap at their feet. They finish the crossword together, racing to be the first to answer the clues, bickering over who filled in most of the blanks once they're done.

"You're good," acknowledges Castle, handing Kate the magazine.

"You mean for a cop?" grins Kate, arching her eyebrow in scepticism.

"_No!_ I mean you're _good._ Your general knowledge is…_expansive_. Can't you just take a compliment for once, Beckett?"

Kate nods, a little contritely, since she can see he means well. "Me and my general knowledge thank you," she says, and she smiles, sitting back in her chair to allow the waitress to place their food down on the table.

"You want two forks with that?" asks the girl.

"Yes, please, and two more flat whites," adds Kate, glancing at Castle, who nods his acknowledgement.

* * *

The scrambled eggs are perfect, just as amazing as billed – bright yellow, not too runny, served on a thick slice of toasted, buttered brioche along with wild mushrooms and truffle salt.

"Mm, these are _so_ good," moans Castle, around a mouthful of food. "I can see why you suggested coming here," he adds, looking around at the scattering of other diners enjoying a Sunday morning brunch.

The coffee shop obviously attracts a pretty hip, bohemian crowd – ripped jeans, graphic tees, floor-length boho skirts teamed with racer-back tanks, sandals and dirty sneakers, the occasional pair of leather lace-ups so scuffed and worn that they have more of a vintage than a suit and tie vibe about them. Most of the women could have stepped straight off the pages of a Free People catalog. The place fits Kate Beckett perfectly. The Kate Beckett that still exists beneath the sharp pantsuits, high heels, silk shirts, bearing the weight of responsibility and an extensive knowledge of criminal law, that is.

Castle can see that she's letting him into her private life, further than he's ever been before. She's letting him see off-duty Kate, the Kate that would probably have prevailed more had her mother not been taken from her in such a heart-breaking way and at such a desperately young age. He resolves to show her how much it means to him that she's willing to share this private side of herself with him, somehow, over the course of their day together.

She's taking things at his pace, making it easier for him to begin trusting her again, to get past the lie that almost had him walking away, turning his back on her for good. That he would have missed out on this - on spending the night together in the same bed, no matter how chaste, on the teasing and the crosswords, on sharing a simple plate of food with one another…

He shudders to think of how close he came to losing out on all of that, on missing the future that's opening up right in front of him.

* * *

"Thanks, Kate," he says, since he can't hold the sentiment in any longer.

She's smiling at him when she looks up, her features morphing into an expression of curiosity, eyebrows knitting together when she registers his words of appreciation.

"What are you thanking me for?"

Castle gestures around them. "For all of this. For asking me to meet you here, for…for sharing your Sunday with me, for…_truffled eggs_, Detective," he shrugs, offering her an apologetic smile, since he knows how he sounds – how utterly grateful - but he doesn't care because he wants her to know that about him anyway.

But it's so heartbreakingly simply, what she's doing with him now - spending time, opening up, sharing a little more of herself - and she knows he deserves this and so much more from her.

"Castle," Kate says quietly, reaching out to caress the hair on his forearm with the tip of her finger, dipping it beneath the rolled cuff of his shirt in a gesture that somehow feels far more intimate than sharing his bed did last night. He shivers at her touch, despite the warmth of the day, and it pleases her to see that she can have this effect on him after all the angst they've been through lately. "No need…please," she whispers, biting her lip. "No need to thank me."

* * *

A few minutes later, Kate pays the check, insisting that today is on her, that they can play 'Richard Castle Sunday' next weekend on his dime, body drops permitting.

"_So…_" he says brightly, now that they're out on the sidewalk, the remnants of their newspaper abandoned to the next customer, aside from the _Sunday Book Review_ and the _Movies_ section that Kate salvaged and slipped into her bag, "…where to now on this great odyssey of yours?"

Kate glances up and down the suddenly quiet street, and then she turns to smile at her partner. "Follow me," she instructs, taking off at a clip towards the nearest cross street. "And don't _dawdle_, Castle," she throws over her shoulder at the pursuing writer. "Clock's ticking," she adds, with an amused grin and a clever little wink he almost misses.

_Almost._

_TBC..._


End file.
